Shadow of a Doubt
by Pegasus
Summary: Read the Author's Explanation in the story. A story in which it can be proved that it isn't only the strongest who survive. Please R & R as detailed in the story. Oh, yes. My first HP fic. Be gentle.
1. Innocence Under Fire

**Innocence Under Fire**

**Disclaimer**: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

* * *

**Author's Explanation**: Anders Grimalkin is my character from a Harry Potter RPG to which I belong. I wrote this story entirely offlist to give him some solid background, and was so pleased with the outcome, I decided to chance my arm and send the story up here for R & R. I might…JUST…extend him into my own full-length story if feedback is positive. Please be aware that, as with all fanfictions, I have taken...liberties with certain things, so before you all start crowing with delight at my 'errors', please suspend your belief before reading on. Done that? Good. So, without further ado, meet Anders Grimalkin. 

* * *

Day after day of black despair.

Such was Anders Grimalkin's life in Azkaban whilst he waited for his trial. He had been seen by a wizard lawyer twice in the whole eight months he had been there. The first time had been a reassurance that things would move swiftly, the second time had been an apology that it was taking so long to move to trial.

In the meantime, he was forced to go slowly, but surely crazy.

Eight months to the day after he was pushed, protesting vociferously into a cell, few would recognise the gaunt, pale figure who lay on the floor, curled into a protective ball, shaking so hard that the chains that restricted his movement rattled noisily. His black hair was matted and dirty, unkempt facial hair made his boyish face look older and more wild. 

But those obvious physical changes were not the real difference, thought Dmitri Georgious, the lawyer who had assigned himself to be Grimalkin's defence. No. The real difference was in the man's eyes. The windows to Grimalkin's soul were filled with the terror that Azkaban instilled in every inmate.

Georgious remembered Grimalkin from the young Seeker's testimonial match when Wales had defeated Greece. He remembered being impressed by the slender young man who darted about the Quidditch field with such consummate grace and skill. It was hard to believe that the whimpering, pitiful wretch at his feet was the same man - the man who had been a pin-up for so many dreamy-eyed young girls the length and breadth of the British Isles - but it was.

"Grimalkin." One of the non-Dementor wizards who worked at Azkaban kicked viciously at the boy, and Georgious winced. The prisoner howled and screwed himself up tighter, wailing promises to do everything he was told if only they would stop the pain, the terrible pain…

"Grimalkin! On your feet!" With what Georgious felt was unnecessary nastiness, the guard pulled the one-time Welsh Seeker to his feet. "You have a visitor."

Anders' empty gaze turned to Georgious and the other wizard was forced to look away. He had seen prisoners in Azkaban before, but nothing could ever help him come to terms with the look of a whipped dog that they all ended up with. Grimalkin looked more browbeaten than most, and also very ill - Georgious remembered noting that he had been put into medical seclusion for the past three months due to a nasty bout of pneumonia.

He nodded to the guard who scowled at Grimalkin. "He's not very cooperative," he said in a loud whisper. "If he gives you any trouble, just holler."

With that, the guard left the room, leaving Georgious alone in the company of a suspected murderer.

"Have you come to help me?" The hope in Anders' voice was almost heartbreaking and Georgius gestured to the man to sit on one of the chairs that the guard had brought in for them. Anders did so, stumbling awkwardly over his chains, and sitting down on the chair almost in amazement. It felt so long since he had sat on anything but the cold floor of the prison fortress, this was almost luxury.

In the half-light of the prison room, Georgious could see just how thin the man had become. The skin of his bare chest was so stretched across his ribs, it was a wonder how he didn't snap, so frail did he look. When he breathed, the sound rattled around in his lungs, a residual effect of the pneumonia. He had been told that six weeks ago, Grimalkin had cheated death by the narrowest of narrow margins, seeming determined not to die unless he proved his innocence.

There had been an extremely worrying moment when it was seriously believed that the best thing to do would be to give him the Dementor's Kiss before he died, but it had been at this point that Georgious had stepped in, unable to witness this treatment of a young man who had not even been charged yet.

"Yes, Anders, I am here to help you," said Georgious kindly, and he was ashamed to see how easily tears came to the man - no, the boy. 

"I can't stay here, Sir," said the one-time Seeker, desperation in his voice. "Please, Sir. There's got to be some proof…I didn't…I'd never…I…I…"

"Quiet yourself, Anders," said Georgious, patting him gently on the arm. "I have a lot of faith that the judge at the centre of the trial will find you not guilty. But...there are many problems we must address."

"Of course he'll find me not guilty," said Anders, almost in surprise. "I didn't kill that man. I wish people would believe that I can't remember."

"I have been thinking about that," said Georgious getting to his feet and pacing the room a little. "Tell me, Anders. Do you remember your old Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore?"

The question took Anders completely by surprise, but he nodded vigorously.

"He is interested in you."

"I don't understand…"

"He has been in touch with me and declared that he wishes to fully support you as a character witness. Apparently, another member of Hogwart's staff, Severus Snape…" He noticed the wince on Anders' face, but continued. "…was approached by the council for the prosecution and gave a testimony which apparently spoke of your regular losses of temper. However, it seems that Dumbledore would like to speak on your behalf at the trial, if you are agreeable?"

Anders could have cried, and indeed, tears leaked out from under his closed eyelids and trickled down his filthy face, leaving pale streaks. "Someone believes in me?"

"It appears so," said Georgious. "Of course, it's early days to say anything yet, but Dumbledore is highly respected and well known for his accurate character judgements. I'd say we have a chance."

Georgious got to his feet and began to walk to the door. Anders, tears still running down his face looked at him. "Ah, yes. The thing I actually came to tell you. You won't have to wait much longer for your trial."

A look of cynicism crossed Anders' face. "Only another three, four years?" he said, uncharacteristic sarcasm entering his voice.

Georgious smiled.

"Tomorrow," he said.

* * *

"Anders Rhys Grimalkin."

The words echoed familiarly in his ears, but it took him a good minute and a half to realise that it was his own name. He looked up, hopefully.

"Anders Rhys Grimalkin, please step forward."

He looked at the wizard who had accompanied him from his cell in confusion. The guard sneered slightly and gave him a 'helpful' shove. The young man staggered forward and blinked at the brightness of the circle. It was a simple effect - one that enabled the Enclave to see him, but not let him see them.

They'd allowed him the opportunity to wash and even shave, and so it was a fresh-faced, but petrified young wizard who stood in the glaring circle of light, waiting to find out what his future held.

"You are Anders Rhys Grimalkin, twenty-two years old, of Cardiff, Wales, is that correct?"

"Yes," he said, confidently. His own identity was, at least, one thing that he had managed to cling onto in the sea of chaos surrounding that Quidditch match. "That's me."

"You have been summoned before the two and twenty today to answer the charge of murder. Due to apparently calculated actions, you caused the death of the Norwegian, Olaf Peterssen." Anders swallowed nervously. "The two and twenty are here to determine the verdict on that charge. How do you plead?"

"Not Guilty," said Anders without a moment's hesitation. He was, after all, innocent.

That was the easy part.

In years to come, it would be known as one of the most complicated and convoluted trials that the two and twenty had ever had to participate in. The council for the prosecution brought forward witness after witness after witness - a never ending stream of people who had seen Anders Grimalkin apparently dive at an innocent Quidditch player in a fit of enraged temper.

And for every person who spoke, Anders felt another nail hammered into his coffin.

Dmitri Georgious sat quietly by his side, occasionally patting his client on the shoulder in an effort to bolster the young man's flagging spirits, but even that seemed to have little effect.

The council for the prosecution summed up, very eloquently.

"Judges of the council, that, in a nutshell, is the case brought against Anders Grimalkin by the family of Olaf Peterssen. A man who, true enough, was once a Death Eater..." Gasps rippled around the public gallery and Anders started in shock. He had not known that. "...but a man who reformed, who saw the error of his ways. He relaunched himself as a Quidditch player - a very good one at that. He had recently married, and had a wonderful future ahead of him. A future that Anders Grimalkin stole with no reason or explanation." The prosecuting wizard stopped in front of the chained prisoner. "In his statement taking directly following the match, Mr Grimalkin said..." The soft sound of Anders' voice magically filled the chamber.

"I don't know what happened out there. I don't remember anything. You must believe me when I say I didn't deliberately attack anyone."

The prosecuting wizard shook his head. "Mr Grimalkin, how do you expect *anyone* to believe those words when so many witnessed the event with their own eyes? You are unstable. You are a danger to not only every other person on the face of the planet, but also to yourself. We call to have you admitted to Azkaban for the full duration for your own safety. And we have proved that you are capable of the most heinous crime imaginable - that of physical murder. What is to stop you applying that cruel streak to the Dark Arts?"

"I object, your honours," said Georgious, standing. "Mr Grimalkin has never used a Dark Arts spell in his life. This is not an issue in this trial."

"Objection sustained," said the head judge. "Get back to the matter at hand."

"My apologies," said the prosecuting lawyer. "Council rests."

Anders stood, his head bowed, tears dripping endlessly from his haunted eyes. Georgious pursed his lips. He had complete faith in the boy's innocence. And it was that very innocence that he now had to prove.

There was a faint ripple around the chamber as Anders sank to his knees, unable to hold his emotions in any more and began to sob. The prosecuting council sneered nastily as Georgious carefully helped the young man back to his feet. "I would request a recess so Mr Grimalkin can rest. He has been very ill and I would call on the compassion of the two and twenty to give him a chance to regain some of his strength."

"Of course," said the head judge. "Mr Grimalkin, please take some time to rest. You are going to need every drop of awareness for the remainder of this trial."

Anders nodded gratefully and leaned heavily on Georgious as they left the chamber, to catcalls and screams of anger from the Norwegian contingent.

"We have our work cut out here, Anders," said Georgious.

* * *

He sat in the recess chamber, shaking uncontrollably with cold, fever and emotion. Georgious watched him wordlessly, worry eating away at him. The boy had refused any food that he had offered, and had taken one or two sips of water. Georgious chewed on his lip thoughtfully. His original idea for helping Anders was starting to become risky if the lad didn't regain control of his faculties soon.

A knock on the door made both of them look up. "Enter," said Georgious.

Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, fixing Anders with his kindly gaze. "Hello, my boy," he said, softly, entering the room and closing the door. He moved towards Anders, who, out of habit borne from the months of prison life, shrank up against the wall.

"It's alright, boy," said Dumbledore, putting his hand up carefully. "I am not here to make you suffer any more. How is he?" The last was directed at Georgious who shook his head.

"I don't know if he'll hold up to it, Albus," said the lawyer, softly. "He's barely with us as it is. Putting him in that stand...I still believe is the only way for him to be seen as he really is. But do you think we should put him through it?"

"He is innocent, Dmitri. An innocent man needs the chance to be seen." Dumbledore looked at the boy with pity. "I have given my statement and it was, I believe, well accepted. It's up to you two now. Anders..." The young man looked at his former Headmaster, his blue eyes wide and scared.

"Anders...you are going to be given the chance to show people who you really are. I recommend you take that opportunity."

He nodded vigorously, then began to cough. Dumbledore winced. "This place has a lot to answer for," he said, grimly, patting Anders gently on the shoulder before turning to leave. "The prosecution council did a good job of damning him," he said, his hand on the doorknob. "He has to redeem himself. Nobody else can do it, not even you, Dmitri - no offence."

"None taken, Professor. It was understood from the start that my part in this was to get him to trial, not to speak for him." Anders watched the exchange with seemingly detached curiosity whilst he got his coughing under control, then finally spoke up in an emotion choked voice. 

"I won't let you down," he said. "I will do whatever it takes...if I have to die trying."

"I hope it doesn't come to that, Anders," said Dumbledore softly, as he left the two men alone in the room.

* * *

"You are free to speak now, Mr Grimalkin."

The faint amusement in the head wizard's voice bit through the haze of terror that blocked Anders' vision as he stood alone in the centre of the floor. He had turned in gauche circles, looking bewildered and bemused and finally stopped, his mouth slightly open. A flicker of a smile played around the young man's mouth.

"Free?" Anders raised one eyebrow as he squinted in an effort to see outside the boundaries of the circle of light in which he stood. "Free to speak? That seems...hard to believe." His voice was soft, but held a tone of strength that seemed almost impossible coming from such a frail young man. "But since you give me the chance...then the least I can do is take it."

Silence fell across the chamber.

Georgious sucked in his breath. Dumbledore had been right. There was something compelling - almost commanding about Anders holding audience in this way - even in his weakened state and with his arms chained. He watched intently, then got to his own feet.

"Mr Grimalkin," he said. "For the benefit of this trial, it is unfortunately going to be necessary to bring to the surface many things that I know you would rather not discuss. However, these things, painful as they will be, are critical to the understanding of you as a human being. Do you understand this and subject yourself to my questions willingly?"

This was it. This was the one thing that even Dumbledore had not been certain of. Bringing the problems of Anders' life out in the open was going to wound the young man deeply, and he and Dumbledore had doubted the effectiveness of it. But his cornflower blue eyes turned to Georgious. 

"I do, Sir."

The relief was palpable as Georgious nodded, turning to the Enclave. "My honours, let me tell you about Anders Grimalkin."

And it all came out. Questions were fired at Anders one after the other, and he responded. How the boy had been admitted to Hogwarts in the usual way, but only after the school had been approached by his Muggle father, Daffyd, an almost unheard of instance. How the Sorting Hat had been unable to fathom the boy out and had placed him in Slytherin house, where he was a misfit, bullied physically and emotionally by his peers. How the teaching staff had noticed his changed attitude as he grew older and returned from the school holidays with bruises and cuts marring his face where his father had lashed out at him. How he had struggled to fit in and never quite succeeded. The deaths of first his beloved mother, then his father. The lack of money that had almost ended his time at Hogwarts, had it not been for the intervention of Dumbledore.

As the conversation continued, Anders' eyes grew darker and darker and more angry. Finally, they reached the critical moment. 

"And what happened that day on the Quidditch pitch, Mr Grimalkin?"

"I do not remember. Genuinely, honestly and sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I have no recollection of events between starting the match and ending up on the ground. It was an accident. I would never, *ever* knowingly attack someone without reason. It was an accident." 

Georgious nodded, stepping back, allowing the boy centre stage. The young man turned away from his lawyer to face the judges. "I know what you all think of me," he said, softly. "I know what's being whispered about me outside Azkaban - what the press have painted me to be. But none of it is true. I have never done anything wrong, my honours. I have neither the courage nor the conviction to carry through this kind of deed." 

He turned to the Norwegian contingent. "I am desperately sorry about your loss," he said, and they were too caught up in the drama to react. "I know what it is to lose someone you love. But this may be the last chance I get to say this to you. I did NOT kill Olaf Peterssen."

His knees buckled under him and he sank to his knees, his head bowed like a condemned man at the block. "I am not guilty of this crime," he said, the strength in his voice beginning to fade. "I have paid a debt that I do not owe. I want my life back."

He stopped speaking and the only sound in the chamber was the resonant rattle of his breath in his lungs and the shuddering sighs that came from the exhausted young man.

Finally, Georgious stepped forward. "Wizards of the Enclave, you have heard this man speak from his heart, and I am asking you to seriously consider the implications of his words. Anders Grimalkin is an innocent. Many of you - " Here, he pointed around the public gallery - " know him only from what has been written about him. If you spend any time at all in his company, that innocence hits you like a solid wall. He did not murder Olaf Peterssen. He was involved in a very serious accident that ended in tragedy. He regrets that, and has paid a high price for it."

He stepped towards Anders who was curled up in a ball, trembling.

"It is not possible to declare a man guilty of a crime all the time there is reasonable doubt, and Anders Grimalkin IS that reasonable doubt. If he DID commit the act of murder, it goes against everything he believes in, everything that he is. If there is a guilty party to this tragedy, it is the media, not Anders Grimalkin."

With that, he helped the boy to his feet and led him gently back to his seat.

From his position in the gallery, Albus Dumbledore wiped the tears away.

* * *

It wasn't over, not by a long shot. Another recess followed, and on his return, Anders became the prosecution's witness. The fire and drive seem to have gone out of the prosecuting council, however, and every time the lawyer's gaze met Anders' own cool blue one, he would look away, troubled.

"I have...no further questions," he said finally, heavily. 

"Very good. Mr Georgious - do you have anything further to add?"

"Nothing, your honour, that Mr Grimalkin hasn't already covered himself."

"Then we will retire whilst the two and twenty consider the evidence." The head wizard waved his hand, and the entire Enclave vanished. He and Georgious had been returned to the recess chamber. Anders watched impassively, his expression totally unreadable.

"Anders."

He turned his head towards Albus Dumbledore as the Hogwarts Headmaster came into the room. "Anders, you did well out there. I want you to know that your mother would have been very proud of you." He saw the look that came into the young man's eyes, and continued hurriedly. "And I was proud of you too. I always knew that you had a spine of steel, and you proved it out there today."

Anders bowed his head. "Thank you, Professor."

"Now I must speak with Mr Georgious. Please, excuse me."

The Professor and the strange, calm man who was Anders' lawyer left Anders alone in the room and alone with his thoughts. Strangely, he did not feel at all bitter at the stirring of the old pains, the old troubles. They seemed almost superfluous when put up against his current situation. 

He considered.

In a very short space of time, his future would be determined by twenty two complete strangers. They would either pronounce him innocent of the crimes he had committed, or they would sentence him. And once he was sent back to Azkaban, Anders knew that he would be living on borrowed time. That place would kill him. It wasn't just a fear, it was a feeling, absolute and very, very real.

If they DID find him innocent, what was he going to do with his life? He would never be able to play Quidditch again - not at a professional level, anyway. He was not phenomenally gifted magically, and he had no alternative career planned out. He'd once considered teaching, but...

Time passed unbearably slowly.

Anders had fallen into a semi-doze, which Georgious and Dumbledore carefully permitted him, having some vague idea of how he must be feeling. They had discussed many options, and one of those had been almost unforgivable. That if Anders were re-admitted to Azkaban, Dumbledore would see to it that his end was a quick and painless one.

"Anders Grimalkin!"

Startled out of his doze, the boy jumped out of his chair with a start and stared around, wild-eyed before dropping to the ground in a cower. "I didn't...it wasn't me...I..."

"It's alright, Anders," said Georgious, hurrying over to him. "It's alright. It was just a nightmare. We're being called back in for pronouncement."

"Then it's still a nightmare," he whispered hoarsely, fear in his eyes.

* * *

"We have heard a lot of evidence both for and against the case of Anders Grimalkin during the course of this trial," said the head judge. "The defendant himself has borne the strain remarkably well, and we are all grateful to him for being so willing to open up as he has, given his current state of health." He inclined his head towards Anders, who bowed his own graciously in return.

~Get to the point,~

"This has been a difficult trial for all of us," he continued. "And the verdict we have reached has been an extremely hard one."

~I'm dead.~

"Anders Rhys Grimalkin, please step forward and receive verdict from the two and twenty."

~I don't want to die.~

He did so.

"Anders Rhys Grimalkin, the Enclave of the two and twenty has considered all the evidence presented here today and we have reached a unanimous...?" He trailed off and looked around the Enclave. They all nodded, sombrely.

~I am SO dead.~

"...a unanimous verdict. On the charge of murder, we have found you..."

The chamber held its collective breath.

"...not guilty."

The roaring in Anders' ears was partly the fact that he was about to pass out, and also the roar of fury that rose from the Norwegian section of the public gallery. His last thought as he hit the ground was that he wasn't going to die after all. 

Then everything went black.

* * *

When he came too, he was lying on a soft bed, with a cool cloth on his forehead. His chains had been released, and he was wearing a soft night robe that covered his emaciated frame. "Where am I?"

"Anders!"

Dumbledore bustled over and shook the young man vigorously by the hand. "You did it, my boy! I knew you were innocent and that you could prove it!" He saw the bewildered look on Anders' face and beamed broadly. "You are a free man," he said, and the pride on his face was almost paternal. 

"Dumbledore, I wish to speak to Grimalkin alone, please," said a voice from the other side of the room." Anders turned his head. It was the head judge. "I have to explain the conditions of his release as you know, and I wish to do that now."

"Yes, yes, yes, of course," said the excited Headmaster, patting Anders' shoulder again. "I must get back to Hogwarts now, anyway - prepare the way for our new DADA Professor." He smiled broadly and winked, leaving the room.

"How do you feel, Anders?" The judge was a kindly man, and sat down with real concern on his face.

"I feel tired, Sir, but relieved."

"As you should." There was a long and painful silence. "You are free to go now, Anders, but there are conditions to your release, which we have imposed partly as the norm, but mostly to satisfy the blood lust of the Norwegians." He sighed and put a pendant around Anders' neck, muttering the words of a spell as he did so. Anders took the jewel in his hand. It was clear crystal and quite plain. He looked up at the judge quizzically.

"It is a Dark Arts monitoring charm," said the judge by way of explanation. "The Norwegians still do not feel you are to be trusted, so we have invoked the monitoring charm. This pendant will absorb any residual effects of ANY Dark Arts spell that you cast, and change colour accordingly. You have three chances. If the pendant turns to black onyx, then your freedom will immediately be called into question, and you will need to have a damned good explanation as to why you have used the Dark Arts at all."

"I understand."

"Your flying license is also revoked. You will not be allowed anywhere near a broomstick for five years."

That hurt worse than the other. 

"Of course," the judge continued, a faint smile crossing his face. "Your new job should keep you...rather busy."

"My...new...?"

"Albus Dumbledore has offered you the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts."

Anders could have cried. The Headmaster had done so much for him...and it was all through the man's belief in a boy with a temper.

The judge smiled more warmly. "Rest now, Mr Grimalkin," he said, softly. "Your life starts again tomorrow."

He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Lying on the bed, now alone, but safe and warm, Anders Grimalkin cried tears of grief and joy.

**© S Watkins, 2001**


	2. All Aboard!

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net][1]

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter One: All Aboard!**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**~ ~ ~**

Platform nine and three quarters at 10.45am on the first day of a new Hogwarts term was, some people had said, THE place to be. Anders Grimalkin wondered which bright spark had come up with those particular bones of wisdom, as the slender young wizard was jostled and pushed along in the throng of people. The only good thing he could see about this was that the crowds afforded him a certain faceless anonymity. There was little chance he might be recognised. Being recognised was one of the things - for there were, indeed, many - that bothered him on his sleepless nights.

His senses were tingling. Everything was bringing back a flood of memories that he had long thought banished by the Dementors. That he hadn't lost more of those memories during his time in Azkaban remained a complete mystery to him. As always, thinking of Azkaban made him shudder, and his hand closed automatically around the pendant he wore round his neck.  
  
He watched with detached interest as students poured in through the invisible barrier like a swarm of bees around a honey pot, with their families, and their luggage. He himself had only one small bag - he had very little in the way of personal possessions, so packing had not been a major problem for him. He sighed, and slung the holdall over his shoulder. The nerves were most definitely building up. 

His blue-eyed gaze fixed on a group of young people standing together, talking animatedly, and he felt the old pangs of jealousy that other people had friendships like that. Always the outsider, Anders had not had a close-knit circle of friends. Hell, he hadn't HAD any friends, full stop.

Until the group all turned as one to stare back at him, Anders hadn't even realised he had been watching them, and he turned away, guiltily, boarding the train at the door that happened to be nearest to him. He made his way to an empty compartment where he put his bag up on the luggage rack and slid into a window seat, his cheeks burning.

Not for the first time, he found himself starting to worry about his suitability for a teaching job. What HAD Albus Dumbledore been thinking of? He well knew how shy the young man was. Surely his appointment as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would go down in history as Albus Dumbledore's greatest mistake? Anders had read the opinions of himself in Rita Skeeter's column. It seemed that the public, like the Norwegians, had been baying for blood since the accident.

He heard a clamouring outside the compartment as students began to load onto the train, and looked out of the window at the platform. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach just would not go away, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that everything would work out right.

He'd wanted to take the Knight Bus, rather than travel up to Hogwarts with the students, but, being him, had left it to the last minute, and when the Knight Bus had popped into existence in front of him, it had been packed and no room. They'd crammed him on and dropped him off at King's Cross, where he had seriously considered just catching a Muggle train to Inverness and simply disappearing for a short while before crossing the invisible barrier to the Hogwarts Express.

So nowhere he was. And, he realised, with growing dread, he would not be alone for much longer. He could hear laughter coming down the corridor of the train. His was the compartment at the very front, so it was inevitable that whoever it was would stop in the same carriage. He stared resolutely out the window, his cheeks still burning.

"Excuse me?" The girl's voice interrupted him and he ripped his gaze away from the particularly interesting piece of litter that he had been concentrating on. A young girl, probably about fourteen or fifteen years old stood in the doorway of the compartment. Her hair was startlingly red, and her smile sweet and shy. "Are these seats taken, sir?" she asked, quietly.

"Eh" he said, rubbing his nose nervously. "Feel free to"

But the girl had already bellowed down the corridor in a surprisingly loud voice, "RON! I've found somewhere!"

He could hear more voices. "Alright, Ginny - they could hear you back home with a voice like that" And then the compartment was full of young people. Anders cringed into his corner and returned his gaze to the platform. The students began talking quietly amongst themselves, and although he wasn't looking at them, Anders KNEW that they were shooting him curious glances.

When the train finally pulled out of the station, Anders' panic grew to such a great level, that he was almost calm. He couldn't go back now. Wellhe could pull the emergency stop cord and leap out into the countryside, which seemed quite an attractive option the more he thought of it. But as the students' constant chatter washed over him, he felt a strange sense of peace and contentment. He closed his eyes and tried to relax.

The students in the carriage gradually became familiar to him through their voices. The little red haired girl who had hollered so loudly down the train was Ginny, one of the boys her older brother, Ron. The other girl was apparently Hermione, and the other boy

"Harry Potter?" Anders said it out loud and turned to look at the group properly for the first time. The boy with the unkempt black hair and startlingly green eyes rolled his eyes heavenwards as if to say 'here we go again'.

"Yes, that's me. And, before you ask, no, I don't remember anything about my encounter with You-Know-Who." The sixteen-year-old Harry had developed a certain level of cynicism that made him seem more mature than his friends. He met Anders' gaze with his own, and something passed between them - that personal level of suffering that notoriety brings with it. "And you are?"

Harry eyed the young man critically. Possibly a new teacher, maybe a final year student - his age was difficult to determine - he seemed to be in his early twenties, but there was something in his expression that spoke of immaturity.

"Me?" Anders paled visibly. "Ithat is" He flushed hotly. "Anders Grimalkin."

Ron nudged Harry urgently and whispered something in his ear. The expression on the boy's face turned from one of curious disinterest to something between intrigue and horror.

"The Welsh Seeker?"

Here it was. The first instance of the moment he had spent many nights agonising over.

"Former Welsh Seeker, yes." He sighed a little and turned to look out the window at the passing scenery, wishing the conversation to end there, but he should have known it wouldn't.

"Why are you on the Hogwarts Express?" This question came from the freckled red-haired boy, Ron, and was a demand rather than a question. Something in his tone irritated Anders, who turned back to fix him with an icy blue stare.

"I'm the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," he said simply. "Any problems with that?" 

Ron looked moderately horrified. "But weren't you in Azkaban?"

He was nothing if not direct. The words caused Anders to close his eyes in remembered pain. When he opened them again, Hermione was pinching Ron's arm and muttering something to him about 'consideration' and 'manners'. But there was no point in avoiding this, it was not going to be the last time.

"Yes," he admitted. "I was in Azin That Place. But I was released a couple of months ago. I was innocent." The last was said so firmly that even Ron closed his mouth, sitting back in his seat with a slightly sullen expression on his face. Hermione smiled at the young teacher.

"Well, I look forward to your classes, sir," she said. "I'm Hermione Granger." She put her hand out his and very tentatively, he took it in his own. "Pleased to meet you," she said, her smile very wide. 

"Eh. Likewise." Anders nodded to the others. "And the rest of you, too." He managed a shy smile of his own, and returned to looking out of the window.

* * *

As the day wore on, Anders found himself actually starting to relax a little, partly due to the constant motion of the train, partly due to the soothing babble of the students around him. Tentatively, he even joined in one or two of their Quidditch-related discussions, a move which caused Hermione to roll her eyes heavenwards and revert to reading her book of spells.

Even Ron seemed to lower his guard and was midway through an animated debate on the varied fortunes of the Chudley Cannons, when a drawling voice from the door to the compartment. "Sucking up to the teachers again, Weasley?" came a drawling voice. Before Ron could respond, young Potter spoke.

"Malfoy. What apleasant surprise." Harry's teeth clenched as he spoke. Picking up on the tension, Anders raised his eyebrows, turning to the door where a blond young man stood, two taller, nastier looking students flanking him on either side. Everything about them - their stance, their mannerscreamed 'Slytherin'. Anders shuddered inwardly, remembering the bullies he had been faced with during his own school days. However, for now, he chose not to intervene and watched quietly. There was clearly an ongoing rivalry between the two.

Hermione slammed her book shut. "Go AWAY, Malfoy. You know that none of us give a hoot about your opinions."

"Nice to see you too, Granger," sneered Draco, snatching the book from her hands and tossing it casually over his shoulder into the corridor. "Still got that nose of yours permanently stuck in a book?"

The two young men behind Malfoy began to snigger nastily and Anders stood up.

"I think that's enough," said the young Professor, in a voice that held more conviction than he felt. "I really don't think that there's any call for this sort of"

"And what do we have here?"

The sixteen-year-old Draco Malfoy had grown into an extremely nasty and unpleasant character. The youthful cruelty he had exhibited had matured into out-and-out nastiness as he turned to contemplate the tall young teacher. Recognition crept into his cold eyes, and a slow, and extremely unpleasant smile spread across his face.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Anders Grimalkin, the murdering Welshman."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered at the expression on Anders' face. To the young man's surprise, Ron Weasley spoke up at this point. "He was INNOCENT, Malfoy, don't you know ANYTHING?" The red-haired boy shot a triumphant look at Anders who smiled slightly. United in the face of the enemy.

Undaunted, Malfoy pressed on. "My father said the Ministry had tried to block your appointment to Hogwarts, but that Dumbledore was insistent." He took a step closer to the new Professor, unafraid, determined to make his mark and continued in a sarcastic manner. "Don't get me wrong, 'Professor Grimalkin', I mean, far be it for me to make judgements on people based on the fact that they're murderers"

"Stop it, Malfoy," said Harry, his voice dangerously low. "Just get out of here, will you?"

Turning his attention to the other boy, Malfoy sneered. "Who's going to make me, Potter? You? Granger? Or maybe little Miss Weasley here." He pointed at Ginny, who squeaked and tried to hide behind her brother.

"I said," Harry repeated, getting slowly to his feet. The summer had seen him shoot up in height, and he was now maybe an inch or so taller than Malfoy, something which seemed to unnerve the blond Slytherin somewhat. It would probably not last long, but for now - Harry had the advantage. "Get out."

There was a silent face off for several seconds.

"Crabbe - Goyle - there's nobody worth speaking to here. Let's go find Longbottom. He still owes us a favour from last term," said Malfoy, with a hint of uncertainty in his voice that put a grim smile on Harry's face. The blond boy gestured to his two goons and the three of them left.

Harry bent to pick up Hermione's book and gave it back to her. "That," he said, by way of explanation to the pale teacher, "was Draco Malfoy. I'm sure he'll make your life as miserable as he can manage - he likes nothing better than fresh blood."

Anders nodded, and sat back down again, letting his head drop into his hands and moaning softly. The students exchanged concerned glances. Hermione was the first to speak.

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked, her voice surprisingly soft. Ron nudged Harry again and whispered something that put a huge grin on Potter's face. Not that Anders saw any of this, lost as he was in his own thoughts.

"Professor Grimalkin?" prompted Hermione again. "Can I get you a drink or something? You look a little unwell."

His head still in his hands, Anders replied, "No, no, I'll be fine." He looked up and sighed. "II'm sorry. Some things still hurt." He smiled slightly. "Thank you for defending me, Ron."

"That's quite alright, sir," said the boy cheerfully. "Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted" And the discussion about Quidditch carried on, leaving Ginny talking to Harry and Hermione reading her book again.

From time to time, she would glance almost shyly at Anders, then bow her head to her work again. She was quite struck by the handsome young Professor, but not in quite the same way as she had been when she had the crush on Professor Lockhart. This was something else altogether. Something about the young man's inherent vulnerability that made him simply scream out for friendship - something she recognised as being in possession of herself.

Sighing inwardly, Hermione returned to the Standard Book of Spells Volume Six.

* * *

After a brief repast of chocolate frogs washed down with pumpkin juice, the Hogwarts Express began slowing as it entered the final part of its journey towards the school. Anders had, by this time, fallen into a restless slumber, his cheek pressed against the window of the train. He looked pale and ill. From time to time a soft whimper would escape his lips. The four students watched him curiously for a while.

"What do you make of" Ron asked his friends in a low voice, jerking his thumb in Professor Grimalkin's direction. Harry looked at the young Professor and shrugged.  
"Hard to say," he mused. "Seems nice enoughbut we all thought that about Professor Quirrell. And Professor Lockhart. Now it might just be mebut does anyone else see a pattern emerging here?"

"I think he's nice," ventured Hermione. "Misunderstood. Another good example of the awful justice system that's in place when it comes to the wizarding world. Not that the Muggle justice system is much better," she added, under her breath.

"You just fancy him," accused Ron, a grin on his freckled face. Hermione responded with a lofty expression, which spoke volumes. Ron and Ginny began to giggle, but Harry smiled fondly at Hermione.

"I think we know Hermione well enough now, Ron, to know that her opinions on people are generally pretty good." She shot him a grateful glance. "And he was pretty controlled when Malfoy tried to get him to rise to the bait earlier." Harry shrugged again. "But he has taken the Defence Against the Dark Arts job - and I think we've seen just how reliable those Professors are. With the exception of Professor Lupin, of course," he added, loyally.

That reminded Ron. "Have you heard fromfrom Padfoot at all?" he asked with a suggestive waggle of the eyebrows.

"Yes. He and Buckbeak are off having a great time travelling the world," replied Harry. "I don't think we'll see him at all this term, but he did almost cause my Uncle Vernon to have heart failure when he turned up on the Dursley's doorstep during the holidays."

"He NEVER!" Ron was incredulous. "With the motorbike and everything?" 

"The whole hog," acknowledged Harry. "Standing at the front door. Full dress robes at three in the afternoon on a Sunday. I tell you this much - I've never seen Uncle Vernon drag someone in off the street so quickly. He's still afraid the neighbours must have seen something. SiriPadfoot was just trying to make an effort to impress."

Ron grinned broadly and Hermione smiled. Trust Sirius to know where to strike. Harry's godfather didn't approve of the Dursleys, and the feeling was entirely mutual. "Wonder if he knew Professor Grimalkin at all while he was in Azkaban."

"Doubt it," said Harry, thoughtfully. "From what you've said, Professor Grimalkin was only in there for eight months" Another whimper from the young man made them all look at him. "Eight months would seem to be long enough," added Harry, a look of pity coming into his face. "And to think that Padfoot was in there for all those years and came out with his sanity intactgives you another level of respect for him."

The others nodded their heads, slowly. Hermione found that she felt strangely guilty for watching the young man's suffering. It seemed to be a private thing that nobody should be party to. Impulsively, she leaned over and gently shook him. "Professor, we are almost at Hogwarts."

Blearily, Anders opened his eyes and they were filled with displaced confusion for a few seconds before he sat fully upright, rubbing at his face. "Thank you," he said, treating her to one of his shy smiles. "Knowing my luck, I'd have slept right through and still been on the train when you got back on it at the end of term."

They all smiled good naturedly at their new Professor. It was strange to consider this young man as being anything more than a final-year student - he seemed so very young. Hermione found herself wondering just how young he was. They had thought Professor Lupin was young, but he had been at the youngest in his late thirties. Professor Grimalkin seemed a lot younger than that, barely out of school himself.

Anders was aware of the girl's scrutiny and, despite himself, began to blush furiously. "I suppose Imy robes" he said, weakly, waving a vague hand over his Muggle clothing. He seemed almost ashamed as he reached up to the overhead compartment and pulled down the holdall. He shook out a set of extremely tatty robes that made even Ron embarrassed on his behalf.

"Ididn't get much of a chance to get kitted out," said Anders, a little defensively as he caught the glimpses they shot at his outfit. "Maybe I'll treat myself with my first pay packet"

It was not the entire truth. He had had the time, but not the money. Astrid and Dafydd Grimalkin had not been well off, and the only money Anders had received had been when the house had been sold. Most of that had gone on paying off his father's debts, and the rest on the first instalment on his legal bills. The only material possession of worth Anders had was his beloved motorbike - and nothing - NOTHING - would make him part with that.

He slid the robes on over his head. They had last been worn during his final year at Hogwarts, six years previously, when he had still been slender, but more muscled than he was now. They hung loosely from his shoulders and made him seem skinnier and taller than he was already. His wild black hair had started to escape from its moderately tidy ponytail, and long strands hung around his pale face. He rubbed the end of his nose nervously.

Inevitably, of course, the Hogwarts Express pulled in at the station, and Anders found himself once again caught up in the tide of chaos that made up the first day of term. Gripping onto his bag as if it were the only thing that would keep him afloat, he made his way quietly towards the castle, with  
the intention of paying his respects to Dumbledore and slinking off to his room. He didn't want to go to the banquet if he could possibly avoid it. 

Albus Dumbledore, however, was not quite such a pushover as Anders had hoped.

"Anders, my boy!" he had roared as the shy young man had knocked on his door. He had leaped up from his seat and rushed over to pump Anders' hand enthusiastically. "How have you been?"

"Not bad, Headmaster," he replied. "Wellactually, quite well - all things considered." 

"Delighted to hear it," beamed the old man, still shaking Anders' hand vigorously. "I've been so looking forward to seeing you. Haven't had much of a chance to talk since all that nasty business."

"No, indeed." Anders was starting to feel a bit sick from the constant motion, but Dumbledore didn't seem to notice that his new Professor was beginning to take on a slightly greenish hue. Finally, however, he let go of Anders' hand, much to the young man's quiet relief. He waved Anders  
down into a seat, which the Professor took gratefully. Dumbledore's office was warm, and colour soon came to Anders' cheeks, as he sipped at the glass of pumpkin wine the Headmaster handed him.

"I was hoping," said Anders shyly, "that I might be excused from the banquet tonight. I am rather tired and I"

"What? Miss the banquet? No, no, my DEAR boy! You couldn't possibly do that!" The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was almost as frightening as a Dementor to Anders right now. "We have to introduce you to the school, and I would prefer to do that myself rather than have to stem anyunnecessary gossip about you." He lowered his glasses a little and fixed Anders with a level gaze. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, Headmaster," said Anders, a little miserably.

"Don't worry too much, Anders," said Dumbledore kindly, getting to his feet and laying a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "I've seen what sort of strength you possess. It will all work out for the best. I have faith in you."

"Yes, Headmaster." Dutiful.

"Anders Grimalkin, you listen to me." There was an earnest note in the Headmaster's tone that made Anders drop his mantle of self-indulgence for a moment and stare fixedly at the old man. "You are more than capable of succeeding in this position. Do you honestly think I would have offered you the job if I didn't believe that?"

There was a long silence, then Anders sighed. "I guess I'm worried you gave me the job out of pity, see." He took another mouthful of the sweet amber liquid in his goblet and sloshed it around in his mouth before swallowing it nervously. "You've done so much for me already and all"

"I did nothing for you, Anders, except give you the chance to be seen for who you really are. And that is all I ask of you tonight. Come to the banquet. Stand up to those who would seek to undermine you."

Something in the Headmaster's words fired Anders' blood. He downed the last of his pumpkin wine and got to his feet.

"I must go and clean myself up. There's a feast waiting," he said. 

"That's my boy," beamed Dumbledore.

  
  


  


**(c) S Watkins, 2000**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	3. Familiarity Breeding Contempt

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net][1]

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Two: Familiarity Breeding Contempt**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**~ ~ ~**

As always, the Great Hall was beautifully lit for the First Night Feast, and by the time Anders nervously slid into his seat at the Teacher's Table, the Sorting was well under way. He was somewhat relieved about this; the Sorting afforded him an opportunity to sneak in unnoticed. 

Almost, anyway.

Severus Snape fixed the young man with a cool gaze that contained all the warmth and charm of a sharpened icicle. He remembered Anders Grimalkin very well indeed. It had partly been due to Snape's statement to the Council for the Prosecution that had led Anders' trial to being such hard work for the boy and his lawyer. Snape had listed Anders' less attractive traits instantly, such as the young man's tendency towards losing his temper easily, being melancholy and brooding, touchy, petulantthe list went on.

Snape had spent many long hours in Dumbledore's office, trying to convince the Headmaster of the foolish mistake that he was making in employing someone as potentially dangerous as Grimalkin, but the Headmaster would not be swayed. In vain had Snape reminded Dumbledore of the problems that had occurred when a werewolf had been given the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, what was it going to be like in the hands of a suspected murderer?

Oddly, Albus Dumbledore had displayed a rare show of anger at Snape's accusatory statement. "He was acquitted of that charge, Severus," the old man had roared, slamming his fists down on the table. "He is innocent, and has undergone an ordeal that he should not have done as a result of the foolish justice system that the wizarding world insists on adhering to."

Since that meeting, Snape had idly entertained the notion that perhaps Grimalkin would drop dead before arriving at Hogwarts. It was well known how ill the young man had been, and that he had cheated death on at least two known occasions.

No such luck.

Under close scrutiny, he noted that Grimalkin did indeed look extremely unwell, which afforded the Potions Master a modicum of satisfaction, but that was as much of a reward as Snape was going to get at this stage. He sneered and returned his attention to the Sorting.

From his seat at the end of the table, Anders watched the Sorting, entranced, remembering his own first day at Hogwarts, the feeling of trepidation and anticipation of waiting to sit under that wise old Hat. That wise old Hat that had sorted him, the eleven-year-old Anders Grimalkin into Slytherin house. He had been bullied and tormented from day one, and had even begged and pleaded for a re-Sort. The results had been the same. He was, apparently, a Slytherin.

He watched as the Hat sorted first one student, then the next, and felt that familiar sense of having been cheated somehow. He picked up his goblet and took a long drink of the wine that was in there. It was sweet and pleasantly spiced and warmed the young man to the toes. Two or three more mouthfuls, and he was feeling sanguine enough to forget the unpleasant memory.

"Look at Professor Grimalkin," whispered Ron to Harry and Hermione. "I wonder what could be so interesting?"

Harry and Hermione swung their gazes away from the Sorting and looked at their new Professor. He had a strange, faraway expression on his face, making him look a little vague and distant. Hermione again felt that pang of sympathy for the young man and sighed audibly. Ron and Harry grinned at each other again, but she didn't notice.

"He looks sovulnerable, doesn't he?" she thought, aloud. "Almost as if the world is out to get him and he's just waiting for the next thing to pounce on him."

The young Professor seemed to be aware of her intense gaze, and his bright blue eyes turned to meet hers. She looked away in sudden embarrassment and pretended to be fascinated by the Sorting again. From time to time, however, her eyes slid to Professor Grimalkin, and always, always his gaze met hers.

Finally, after the Sorting Hat had announced cheerfully that Watson, Matthew was going to join Ravenclaw, Professor Flitwick carried the Sorting Hat out of the Great Hall and the feast commenced.

Harry and Ron launched themselves immediately into the task of eating, taking their dinner, as always, very seriously indeed. They watched the Teacher's Table with moderate interest from time to time, noting with glee the look of utter malice on Snape's face whenever the Potions Master's eyes were drawn to the young Professor. Professor Grimalkin was picking listlessly at the plate of food in front of him, looking for all the world like he would rather be elsewhere - which was, in fact, the case.

Between the main course and dessert, whilst most people in the Great Hall were leaning back in their seats swearing blind that they would never, ever eat so much again, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet.

"Students and teachers, welcome back to another year at Hogwarts. First yearswelcome, just welcome!" He beamed broadly, his eyes twinkling madly. He held his arms out widely. "This year should prove to be yet another wonderful year here at the world's premier establishment of witchcraft and."

As the speech droned on, Anders, made cosy and sleepy by the imbuing of wine began to tune him out, letting the old man's words settle on him like a warm blanket. In fact, he was maybe seconds away from nodding off when he heard Dumbledore say his name aloud.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor Anders Grimalkin."

A low murmur ran through the Hall at the name. Everyone knew who Anders Grimalkin was - the notorious Welsh Quidditch player who had apparently lost his grip on reality during an international match and caused a collision and subsequent death of the Norwegian Beater, Olaf Peterssen. Every young witch and wizard who had any interest in Quidditch knew about him.

Wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole, Anders stared at the Headmaster nervously. Dumbledore gestured to him to stand up, which he did, his knees trembling so much that he had to hold onto the table to prevent himself from falling over.

From the other end of the table, Snape snorted loudly in derision. Loudly enough for everyone to break their stares away from the pale, handsome young Professor to see the disdainful, distrustful expression that Snape was doing very little to disguise. The Potions Master raised his hands and clapped them slowly in a sarcastic gesture of applause. 

"SUCH a wise choice, Headmaster," he said in his snide manner. "I am sure that PROFESSOR Grimalkin will prove to be a VALUABLE member of staff. I am positive his students will beshall we say, held truly CAPTIVE by him?"

Ron, Harry and Hermione winced at Snape's words. He had never, ever been so publicly dismissive of Dumbledore's choice of colleague. But the thing that bothered them more than anything, more than the way that first Grimalkin's face and then his stance crumpled at Snape's cruel words, was the bawling laughter that came from the Slytherin table, led, doubtless, by Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "How can they be so unkind?" 

"Enough, Professor Snape," said the Headmaster, still retaining his jovial tone, but glaring at the Potions Master angrily from behind his spectacles. "However, in a way, thank you for introducing us neatly to what I have to say next."

Dumbledore pushed his spectacles up his nose and waited for Professor Grimalkin to regain his composure. "Professor Grimalkin will be known to many of you here - indeed, our seventh years may just remember him, as he was in his own final year when they commenced their education with us." There were a few nods, mostly from the Slytherin table. "However, most of you will know him through the column of the indomitable Rita Skeeter."

The Headmaster's glasses slid down his nose again and he peered around sternly. "I now officially ORDER you to ignore everything that woman has written about this young man. Give him a chance. If you choose to dislike him because of reasons that you cannot possibly start to justify, then consider the implications this has on your own sense of identity. Consider that you are incapable of forming your own opinions and are easily led. Cons..."

"Thank you, Headmaster," came a voice from the end of the table. Professor McGonagall, who was sitting next to poor Professor Grimalkin was feeling acutely aware of the flush on the young man's face. "I think they get the idea."

Professor Grimalkin blushed furiously and took advantage of the interruption to sit down again. Dumbledore looked momentarily surprised, but cut the rest of his speech short, much to the relief of everyone present. McGonagall flashed him a supportive smile and he returned it with a shy grin of his own.

Wrapping up his speech, Dumbledore finally sat down, and the golden platters immediately began filling with the normal array of delicious desserts. Professor Grimalkin, Hermione noticed, stared at them with a slightly sickened expression on his face. He wasn't, she believed, concerned by the sugar or calorie content of the sticky toffee pudding that had materialised in front of him.

Once again, their gazes locked and she turned away to eat her trifle, disturbed by the haunted expression in Professor Grimalkin's handsome, blue-eyed gaze.

* * *

They had made their way past the portrait hole, giving the Fat Lady the new password (Canis Major) and slumped into the comfy chairs in the Gryffindor common room with enormous gratitude. Their stomachs were stretched to bursting point, but it was not uncomfortable. Ron, Harry and Hermione sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the continual chatter of the excited first years and feeling very old and wise.

"Harry! Hey, Harry!" Harry glanced up at the source of the voice and groaned inwardly. Even as a fourth year, Colin Creevey still insisted on treating Harry with something akin to hero worship. 

"Hello, Colin," he replied, a little wearily. "How did the summer holidays treat you?"

Colin replied, but Harry didn't listen. He let Colin's mindless babble wash over him soothingly. Ron had entered into a heated argument with Dean Thomas about the Chudley Cannons, and Hermione had returned her attentions to her book.

"Well, I think we should complain to Professor Dumbledore," came Parvati Patil's voice as she spoke to Lavender Brown. "I don't think it's right, a known criminal teaching us." Hermione pretended not to be listening, but her ears remained tuned to the conversation.

"He WAS acquitted," said Lavender, slowly.

"That's not the POINT!" declared Parvati. "He was charged with murder. Thousands of people saw him fly deliberately into that poor man and cause his death. From what I read, he was only ever released from Azkaban because the evidence was not concrete enough. And you have only to look at him to see how nasty he could be."

Lavender replied with the words that were in Hermione's own mind.

"He doesn't look strong enough to be nasty," she said, slowly. "I don't know, Parvati...what Professor Dumbledore said about forming our own opinions and not listening to those of other people..."

Hermione slammed her book closed, making everyone in the common room jump. "I'm going to bed," she announced in a cold voice. "Good night."

As she strode from the room, eyes followed her, and there were one or two nervous giggles.

Harry didn't giggle, though. He was concerned by Hermione's reaction to the strange new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

* * *

Right now, the strange new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was sitting on the steps of the castle, a cigarette between his fingers, a wistful, lonely expression on his face. He cut a forlorn figure indeed. 

He had known that Dumbledore had meant well, but there was an aching feeling in his heart that more damage had been done by the Headmaster's fierce defence of him than if he'd simply introduced the new Professor and left it.

"Ignito," he muttered at the cigarette, which flared into life. He took a long drag on it and immediately began to calm down. He knew that smoking with lungs as delicate as his was a crazy thing to do...but it gave him means to an end. Smoking calmed him, took away some of the constant fear that hung around him like a cloud.

He had only been out of Azkaban for a few weeks, he kept reminding himself. Only a very few weeks. Of course it was natural he should still be nervous and edgy.

The cloud cover broke, and a bright moon shone down on him, bathing him in soft, eerie silver light. By all accounts, the school had previously hired a werewolf in the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. Why should an ex-Azkaban inmate be any less of a surprise?

He smoked in silence for a while, then flicked the finished cigarette into the night, where the tip glowed for a moment, then died in the damp grass.

Anders Grimalkin got to his feet and went back into the castle. To his enormous displeasure, Severus Snape stood in the Entrance Hall, apparently waiting for him.

"Professor," he said, softly, acknowledging his superior's presence.

"Grimalkin," responded the Potions Master coolly, treating the young man to a cold stare. "Not packed your things and left yet?"

The young Welshman bristled. Snape had never liked him, and Anders had the dubious distinction of being one of the few Slytherins from whom Snape had taken House Points. "Why would I have done that, Professor?"

"Don't you understand, Grimalkin? You always were...simple." Snape stalked towards him, like a hungry raven. "Nobody wants you here. It would be better all round if you were simply to leave."

"Professor Dumbledore..."

"...is well known for taking pity on idiots and charity cases. Introducing a werewolf to the school is one thing. That, at least, could be controlled - after a fashion. But you. You!" He waved vaguely towards Anders with a contemptuous expression on his face. "You are a loose cannon. Volatile. A liability. Untrustworthy." His dark eyes glinted. "A murderer, Grimalkin."

Anders clenched his hands inside his robes. "Goodnight, Professor," he said, his voice even and controlled. He would not rise to the bait. He COULD not rise to the bait. 

He turned and walked off, climbing the great marble staircase slowly and with purpose. His fists were so tightly clenched that his hands were hurting.

"What's the matter, Grimalkin? Are you still frightened of your own shadow?" Snape laughed nastily and seeing that his words had no effect on the young teacher whatsoever, finally gave up the taunting and stalked off in the other direction.

Anders walked slowly towards the room in the Teacher's wing that was now his. He entered and shut the door quietly behind him. He uncurled his fingers and rubbed at the deep indentations his fingernails had left in his palm. Severus Snape. Just one of the things that Anders did not know how to deal with.

He sat down in the battered armchair in the corner of the room and thought for a while. 'Still frightened of your own shadow'. Trust Snape to drag that up. The Potions Master was, of course, not referring to Anders' inherent and very obvious nervousness, but to a Duelling class...where Anders had been deeply embarrassed in front of the whole year...

No. He would not allow himself to dwell on the past. Damn Severus Snape and his petty need to bully those weaker than himself. He, Anders Grimalkin, could simply not afford to fall into the traps he was sure Snape would leave for him at every possible opportunity.

He let his thoughts wander to the events of the day. He hadn't considered the possibility that he would be teaching the famous Harry Potter. He had been surprised by the boy, that was for sure: there had been an air of faintly bored cynicism hanging around him, but then...he had been the most famous wizard in the world since the day he had defeated You-Know-Who. He'd even heard his name whispered reverentially in Azkaban.

Casting his mind back, Anders recalled reading about the escaped Azkaban inmate, Sirius Black, who had apparently been out to kill Potter. He'd either clearly failed, or it was all more media propaganda. And the gods only knew that Anders had seen the power of THAT particular machine. He felt a sudden wave of sympathy for a fellow inmate. Twelve years, Black had been in Azkaban, twelve long years. Anders had been there for only eight months - and that had nearly broken him.

Anders got to his feet and moved towards the bathroom. He stood and stared at his reflection for a long time. Maybe it was just age, or perhaps it was the time he had spent in Azkaban, but he was starting to resemble his father more and more. The cruel expression was missing - the cruel expression that was so similar to that he had seen in Snape's face. Did he miss his father? He supposed so. But it was an empty feeling. The man had never liked his son whilst he had lived, and the feeling had been shared by Anders. He had been on the receiving end of Dafydd's temper one too many times - a temper that he had inherited, but rarely acted on. 

He scrutinised himself for a while. The dark shadows under his eyes gave him a faintly haggard expression and made him look older than his twenty-three years. Bright blue eyes - his mother's eyes - stared out at him from a pale face accentuated with high cheekbones. His thick black hair had grown long and unmanageable whilst he'd been in Azkaban, and he'd had it tidied, but had kept the length, rather liking it that way.

He rubbed his nose thoughtfully and stared at the man in the mirror. Good looking? So he had been told by admiring female Quidditch fans. He didn't see it himself. All he saw was Dafydd Grimalkin. He could feel the familiar surge of anger. Why hadn't he taken after his mother in appearance? Why had the Fates seen fit to carry on the torment by making him into an almost exact replica of his father?

He didn't care to question it right now.

Morosely, he began unpacking the meagre contents of his holdall, putting the things away. Even when he had done that, the room still looked large and empty. But then, compared to the tiny cell that had been his home for the better part of a year...it was luxury itself.

He lay down on the bed, another luxury - he'd gotten so used to sleeping on the floor, he felt almost guilty at the feelings of gross opulence that the bed gave him.

Taking up his book on the Dark Arts, he began to read. He supposed he had better do the job to the best of his ability. He had never, ever taught before, and just the thought of standing up in front of a class was making him feel physically sick. 

The words swam in front of his eyes, blurring his vision and giving him a headache. Finally, the book slid out of his hand and he fell asleep, atop the covers, still fully dressed.

* * *

"Hermione?"

Lavender's voice came to her through the curtain. "Hermione, are you sure you're alright in there?"

"Yes, Lavender, I'm just very tired," said Hermione, more sharply than she had intended. Immediately contrite, she pulled back the curtains around her bed. Lavender gave her a look of concern. Over the years, Lavender had become the closest Hermione had to a proper girl friend unless you counted Ginny Weasley (which Hermione didn't, because she and Ginny were practically sisters). Lavender handed Hermione a steaming mug of hot chocolate and gave her a look of concern.

"Is this about..." She glanced at Parvati, who was holding court the other side of the dormitory and lowered her voice. "About the new Professor? I don't believe he's a murderer, if that helps..."

Hermione couldn't stop the blush that crept onto her face. "Well," she admitted finally. "Yes...I think I was just so angry at the way Parvati's so quick to dismiss him. She doesn't even KNOW him." She sipped angrily at her hot chocolate and continued.

"We sat with him on the train coming up to Hogwarts," she said. "He seemed really nice - and didn't even take the bait when Malfoy came into our carriage and taunted him. But...he seems really...well, sad, too. Not just Azkaban-sad. As if he's...on his own."

She took another sip of hot chocolate. "He's only - what, Professor Dumbledore said he'd left Hogwarts about five years ago...so that would make him twenty-two, twenty-three at the most." 

"He IS very young, isn't he?" said Lavender, stirring her chocolate idly. "And...rather good looking, too, don't you think?" She shot a glance at Hermione, who shrugged indifferently. 

"Better than the alternative," she said. "Out of Snape, Flitwick and Grimalkin, I know who I would rather have sitting at the head of a class."

"Oh, Hermione! Surely you must have noticed how blue his eyes are? He is so handsome!"

"Yes, well," she said, curtly and dismissively. "I learned THAT lesson with Professor Lockhart. Looks aren't everything, Lavender." She smiled a little as her friend blushed. "I'm more interested in his history. He must be one of the youngest Professors that Hogwarts has ever had. He must be exceptionally gifted magically."

"Rumour has it," said Lavender, dropping her voice still lower, "that he's Muggle-born. Dean Thomas used to support the Cardiff Chargers when Grimalkin played for them, and is a bit of an expert on the subject. He doesn't believe Grimalkin is a murderer, either. But he WAS a Slytherin, apparently...and, well...we know what THEY'RE like."

Hermione said nothing, but considered Lavender's words. "I think a trip to the library might be in order tomorrow," she thought, aloud. "See what I can find out about Professor Grimalkin."  


  
  


  


**(c) S Watkins, 2001**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	4. Haunted by the Past

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net][1]

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Three: Haunted by the Past**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**~ ~ ~**

"Double Potions?" moaned Ron. "I don't BELIEVE it! What a lousy start to the year!"

They had trooped down the breakfast the first morning of term to be greeted by their new class schedules. A two hour long session with Snape was something that none of them really believed they would enjoy. Ron speared a piece of bacon viciously, obviously wishing it was Snape's head.

"Look at it this way," shrugged Harry, nonchalantly. "At least this way we get it over with at the beginning of the day and don't have to spend all day dreading it." He grinned at his friend and took another mouthful of porridge.

A loud groan from the other side of the table told them that Neville Longbottom had picked up his schedule. Neville, who had grown into a pleasant faced, plump young man buried his head in his hands. "Why me?" he asked the universe in general. Neville and Professor Snape were not exactly the closest of friends.

Harry watched Neville for a moment, moderately amused, then turned his attention to the door, where Professor Grimalkin was entering. The young man looked sallow and tired, as though he had slept poorly, and his scruffy robes looked even more rumpled and untidy than they had yesterday. Harry watched with bored interest for a while, noticing the malevolent stares that Snape shot at him.

He hadn't seen Snape so intent on hating someone this much since the year Remus Lupin had taken the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. There were interesting similarities between Lupin and Grimalkin, Harry noted privately. The delicate appearance, the soft and apparently gentle manner. But he did not think that Grimalkin was another werewolf. 

"Where's Hermione?" asked Ron, breaking Harry's concentration. "She's usually here by now."

"I saw her heading off to the library," replied Harry, looking away from Grimalkin. "She is obviously not intending to take things any easier this year."

"Probably off on another one of her House Elf crusades," said Ron through a mouthful of toast. He noticed Harry's gaze return to Grimalkin and nudged him. "Looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts with the best Seeker Wales ever had?"

"Was he really that good?" 

"Pulled off the Wronski Feint no less than four times in his debut match for Wales," replied Ron. "He was set to be the best Seeker in the world, but then...the accident - if that's what it was...caused the death of the Norwegian Beater, Olaf Peterssen."

Harry glanced at his friend. "You think he did it deliberately?"

Ron considered.

"I dunno," he said, finally. "I didn't see the match, and after speaking to him yesterday...I don't think he could kill a spider, let alone another wizard." He chewed his toast in silence for a while. "Think that Hermione quite liked him though."

"That was obvious," agreed Harry, starting to smirk. "Think she'll send him a Valentine like she did to Professor Lockhart?"

At this moment, there was a roar from the teacher's table. Harry and Ron looked up, startled. Hagrid had come into the Great Hall, the first time they'd seen him since they'd got back. To their surprise, he went straight up to Professor Grimalkin and caught him up in a huge bear hug.

"Anders, me old mate," he was saying loudly enough for the whole Hall to hear. Ron and Harry exchanged curious glances. Poor Professor Grimalkin, who had been tentatively buttering a piece of toast dropped his breakfast and struggled out of Hagrid's embrace.

"Hello, Hagrid," he said, his soft Welsh lilt barely audible. Hagrid dabbed at his eyes with the edge of the tablecloth. 

"It was 'orrible what they done to you, Anders, 'orrible. I tried t'get them t'see what a terrible mistake they'd made, but..."

"Hagrid, it's fine," said the young Professor, his cheeks burning. "Look, how about I call round to see you later - we can talk then?"

"Yes, yes," said Hagrid, shaking Professor Grimalkin's hand. "Come round for tea." The half-giant sat down in his own seat and waved at the Gryffindor table. "Alright Harry?"

Harry and Ron waved back, then returned to their own conversation.

"Well, now," said Ron, obviously surprised. "Maybe we WEREN'T the only students who befriended Hagrid." This transpiring of events had clearly given Ron an increased level of respect for the scruffy young teacher. Like Harry and Hermione, he was fiercely loyal to Hagrid, and anyone who was a friend of the Care of Magical Creatures teacher was, by default, a friend of Ron's.

At the Slytherin table, Harry noticed, Malfoy was watching the reunion between Hagrid and Professor Grimalkin with interest. He turned and said something to Crabbe and Goyle, who immediately snorted with laughter. Harry just barely caught the word 'murderer' and his jaw set determinedly. Once more, before he got to his feet to head for Snape's dungeon, he glanced at Grimalkin, nervous and shy-looking, and did not envy the young man the difficulties he was going to suffer at the hands of Snape and Malfoy.

* * *

Double Potions - as always, with the Slytherins - was as difficult and unpleasant as Snape's classes ever were. Hermione finally showed up, and she had a number of scrapbooks and old copies of the Daily Prophet poking out of her bag. Ron and Harry looked at them curiously, but she was not forthcoming with information.

"This year," Snape said, in his low, sibilant voice, "we will be working very closely with poisons and antidotes, as well as going over much of what you SHOULD already know, but which some of you clearly don't, yet, and yes, I do mean you, Longbottom."

Neville cowered.

Snape got to his feet and paced between the desks. "This is your O.W.L.S year, which I am sure you are all perfectly aware of. I will not accept this as an excuse for sloppy or unfinished homework, Mr Weasley, neither as an excuse to continually show off your ridiculous overweening bossiness, Miss Granger."

Ron and Hermione glowered at the Potions Master's back.

It didn't improve from there. For what was probably the first time they could remember, the Potions lesson was entirely theoretical. Snape told them about the different kinds of poisons, the ways to counteract them, and the nasty, lingering effects some of them could have.

"Of course," said Malfoy in a low, drawling whisper to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "We need to be on our guard with that murderer, Grimalkin in the castle."

"Shut UP, Malfoy," chorused the three, earning a Look from Snape.

"What's so interesting, Potter? Ten points from Gryffindor for talking in class." 

They had learned a long time ago that it was not worth the house points in complaining, so fell silent and contented themselves with working out which of the snake-bite based poisons they would slip into Malfoy's dinner.

* * *

When the lunch bell finally rang, releasing them from Snape's evil clutches and back to the Great Hall, Snape had taken another fifteen points from Gryffindor, Neville had been reduced to a quivering wreck, and they had a five-page essay to write by Thursday. 

"Snape never gets any better, does he?" said Ron. They were sat at the lunch table, eating the normal winter fare of casserole and warm bread. Hermione had an old copy of the Daily Prophet next to her and was reading an article with apparent interest. Occasionally she would say something like 'really? Wow!', until Ron could stand the suspense no longer and whipped the paper from her.

"What's so interesting, Hermione?"

"Give that back," she said, her face flushing, but Ron's freckled face split in a wide grin as he read aloud to Harry. 

"Anders Grimalkin, 20, was announced today as the new Welsh International team Seeker. Grimalkin, who has already achieved a certain cult status amongst the Welsh Quidditch-loving community, is currently playing for the Cardiff Chargers. When asked about his reaction to the news, Grimalkin, pictured here with his girlfriend, Charis Powell..." Ron looked over the paper at Hermione. "He has a GIRLFRIEND, Hermione. You must be SO disappointed."

Hermione said nothing, but her face was red with embarrassment and anger. Harry took pity on her and, taking the paper from Ron glanced at the article briefly. There was a picture of Professor Grimalkin, looking not that much different than he did now, but certainly happier and neater - and most certainly full of health. A stunningly good-looking young, blonde witch was hooked onto his arm and smiled out of the picture at Harry. He passed the paper back to Hermione, who folded it and put it away.

"Looks to me like nobody could resist a smile like that," he said in an undertone to Ron. "Maybe his girlfriend is part Veela?"

Hermione's face was set in stone as she ate the rest of her lunch in silence, then got up to head for her Arithmancy lesson, whilst the two boys walked slowly and unenthusiastically up the stairs towards Madam Trelawney's Divination classroom. 

* * *

Anders Grimalkin sat back in his chair, a thin trickle of sweat running down his face. He had successfully lived through his first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, with the third years. Not ONE of them had said anything about Quidditch, or Azkaban. They had listened in apparently rapt attention as he had shyly stuttered his way through the lesson, discussing (but not demonstrating) Boggarts.   
  
Apologetically, he had explained that there were no Boggarts apparently resident in the castle at that particular moment, but the story of Snape in Neville's Grandmother's outfit had long since become legendary. Under extreme pressure from disappointed students, Professor Grimalkin had promised to try to arrange one for their next class.

He was free now until the final hour of the day, when he had a single class with the fifth years. Harry Potter's year. How could he possibly teach Harry Potter how to defend himself against the Dark Arts when the boy had clearly defended himself admirably already?

Studying the curriculum, he noted that the fifth years were going to be covering Duelling against the Dark Arts this year and groaned. He remembered his own fifth year when Snape had stood in as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for a few weeks. His life had been a living hell during that period.

No, he corrected himself morosely. Azkaban had been a living hell. What Snape had done to him may have had a lasting effect, but it hadn't really scarred him. Not like the eight months in that fortress.

As always, his mind flashed back to the life he had spent waiting for his case to come to trial. Although he was technically not a prisoner of Azkaban, his life was little better. As a suspected murderer, he was kept chained and, although the Dementors did not, as a rule, enter the part of the fortress where prisoners awaiting trial were kept, their chill permeated every pore of the body.

The Dementors were by no means the only terrible thing about Azkaban. The non-Dementor wizards who were employed as guards to the still moderately sane, like Anders, were downright unpleasant and never missed the opportunity to taunt their captives. Anders had been particular vulnerable to their attacks: so convinced was everyone of his guilt, they would haunt his day with tales of what the Dementors would do when they got their hands on him, leaving his nights to torment him with those thoughts.

He could, he supposed, have taken the easy route and simply lost his mind. But he had been so desperately sure of his own innocence - it had been the only thing that had kept him going.

"Looky, looky!" came a sudden, shrill voice that set the Professor's teeth on edge. "Ooooh! NASTY little STUDENT'S back! How's the temper, Grim? "

"Get out of here, Peeves," Anders said mildly, actually quite glad to see the poltergeist, as his arrival had snapped him out of his reverie. The ghost danced in front of him for a while and, despite himself, Anders smiled. "You just here to taunt me?"

Peeves looked genuinely surprised. "There's another reason?" He circled Anders once or twice, shaking his ghostly head in mock sadness. "You never did find it, then? Dear oh dear."

"Drop it, Peeves," said Anders, in a pleasant voice that held a dangerous undercurrent of threat. "Nobody cares about it. And anyway...sometimes I have it, other times I don't." The young Professor shrugged. "It isn't a problem."

"Not a problem, Grim? Tsk, tsk! Makes you into a walking freak if you ask me! Even the ghosts were scared of you after you lost it. Not natural. Not natural at all." He leaned right into Anders' face and grinned wickedly. "Unnatural."

"I said drop it, Peeves." Anders flicked his wand and a jet of sparks shot from the end of it, sending the poltergeist shooting backwards. With a final, gleeful and accusatory shout of "unnatural!", the poltergeist was gone.

Anders threw his wand at the wall that Peeves had just passed through, a look of pure ire on his normally placid face. Being reminded forcibly of his personal - peculiarity - still stung, and had done since the day Snape had cast the spell on him. He got to his feet and retrieved his wand, deciding he would leave the confines of the classroom and go for a quick smoke before preparing the lesson for the fifth years.

Composing himself, divesting himself of the rage that was creeping through his veins, Anders heading towards the main door and took a seat on the steps. Somewhere over the crest of the lawn, he could hear muffled shouts of laughter. Hagrid and his class, no doubt. A genuine smile came onto the young Professor's face. He had been extraordinarily fond of Hagrid during his student days, and to find out that Dumbledore had rewarded the faithful Gamekeeper with the Care of Magical Creatures position had filled Anders with quiet pride.

With a soft 'ignito', he lit his cigarette and smoked contemplatively for a while, noticing how his anger began to drain. This was good. Very good. The last thing he needed was to be on edge and snappish in a class that contained Harry Potter.

Anders Grimalkin - known to his fellow students and, evidently, the ghosts of Hogwarts as 'The Grim', because of his perpetual air of gloom, and the fact he'd been Professor Trelawney's chosen 'victim' one year, had been in possession of one of the hottest tempers any of the Professors at Hogwarts could ever remember seeing - and they had seen some firecrackers in their time. Twice he had had to be forcibly restrained after launching himself in a state of blind fury at those who would taunt him. 

As he had grown older, it became widely accepted that the best way not to fire him up was simply to ignore him, and he had become more and more withdrawn. The temper had faded with age, though, as his logical, rational side began to rule his actions, and following the death of his mother, he had seemed to lose it altogether. Even after the Duelling incident, he had not been angry, but had simply moped about the situation in his own way.

He flicked the spent cigarette away and got to his feet, dusting down his crumpled robes before heading back into the school. 

He paused for a moment before the smiling portrait of the current Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore. His personal benefactor, saviour and idol. What that man had done for Anders went way beyond the call of duty, and it was up to the young man now to repay some of the debt. He would do this job and he would do it well. 

"Just keep Snape out of my path," he begged no-one in particular.

"Keep out of his way, my boy," the portrait of Dumbledore smiled at him. "One good turn deserves another. Never forget that."

Anders smiled gently and headed back to his classroom.

* * *

Divination was an ongoing nuisance and thorn in the side as far as Harry and Ron were concerned - but they were both moderately confident it would be an easy O.W.L. to get, which was why they had carried it on to the fifth year. Sybil Trelawney, as vacant and desperate to be mysterious as ever had welcomed the students with her usual sad eyes and set them away reading each others fortunes in the Tarot, which was her subject for the term.

"Don't tell me, let me guess," said Harry, covering his eyes in mock terror. "The Death Card, right?"

"Harry, you're amazing," gasped Ron in pretend amazement. Professor Trelawney, who was hovering nearby, wringing her skinny hands together, stepped up. "The Death Card doesn't necessarily mean Death, dears," she cooed. "Besides, Harry, I'm pleased to tell you that your year ahead is looking remarkable rosy!"

"It is?" Harry was naturally cynical.

"Ohh, yes," breathed the Divination Professor. "All the signs for a year of portent-free studying are excellent." She leaned in as if sharing a great secret. "There is another who will be dogged by the omens of doom this year, I am pleased to tell you."

"Oh?"

But no further information was forthcoming. Ron and Harry exchanged glances and barely stifled their sniggers.

The rest of Divination passed, as it always did, in a smoky haze of incense and low lighting that made them all feel rather sleepy. When the bell finally rang for the final lesson of the day, it was a very dozy Harry and Ron who made their way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

When they entered, they saw Professor Grimalkin leaning back on his chair, his feet up on the desk, seemingly in some sort of deep meditation. Either that, or...

"He's ASLEEP!" hissed Ron.

It was true. Anders had come back inside after his cigarette and decided to steal the opportunity to snatch forty winks. Sadly, however, his forty winks had turned into eighty, then one hundred. With low giggles, the fifth year Gryffindors all entered the classroom and slid into their seats.

Hermione entered last, and looked at first the class and their strange behaviour and then at the young Professor, whose mouth had fallen slightly open, giving him a vaguely idiotic appearance. "Well, isn't ANYONE going to wake him up?" she asked, her hands on her hips. Ron put a finger to his lips. 

"We're just going to sit here and wait until he's ready for us," he said, a wide grin splitting his face.

"Oh, Ron, honestly. Professor! Professor Grimalkin?" She reached over and shook the young man gently, much as she had on the train yesterday.

This time, however, he did not awaken gently. With a yell of horror that sent Hermione reeling backwards in shock, his chair tipped over, and the young Professor went down on the floor in a tangle of chair legs and scruffy black robes.  
  
Hermione's natural reaction was to giggle - he looked so funny struggling to get up. Indeed, the rest of the class were roaring themselves hoarse with laughter. But then she saw his face, the look of distress that crossed it, and she hated herself more in that moment than she had ever done in her life - even when she'd believed Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers.

She stopped laughing immediately. "Here," she said, putting out her hand to help him up. The look of gratitude he shot her almost brought tears to her eyes, and when his hand closed around hers, she held it a little more tightly than was necessary, in an effort to communicate her support to him.

The young Professor got to his feet, shamefaced, and rubbed the end of his nose nervously.

"Not a good introduction," he said, finally to the class, who had, by this time, settled down somewhat and were watching him intently. "I think I'd be grateful if you didn't mention this to anybody...but then again, I can't stop you." He smiled a little lopsidedly. "It's just the sort of thing Professor Snape would enjoy strangling me with."

At this moment, he formed an instant bond with the Gryffindors. If Professor Snape didn't like Professor Grimalkin, then they, by the very principle, liked him.

"Yoo hoo! Grim!"

~Not Peeves, please, not Peeves. I'll give anything if it's not...~

Peeves floated into the room. "Hello little students! Is The Grim treating you well? Wouldn't trust him too much, he's got a NASTY temper, has The Grim."

Anders was starting to lose the tiny shred of self control he'd managed to regain as he glared at the poltergeist, who fluttered to hover in the air next to Neville.

"Has The Grim told his students about it yet?"

"Peeves..."

"Told us about what?" Neville was fascinated.

"Look at him!" smirked Peeves. "Here's a riddle for you, fifthies. What has The Grim here not got that everything else, animal, vegetable and mineral does have?" The poltergeist floated particularly close to the DADA Professor, who gripped his wand so tightly that it turned his knuckles white. "Particularly at noon," cackled the ghost, passing right through Anders and out the classroom.

Anders turned and slammed his wand down on the desk, his placid face furious with rage. "Now does anybody else - anybody at all - want to get their digs in now?" he roared, in an incensed voice.

There was a sound of squeaking chair legs as the class collectively backed up a few inches. Peeves had been right. Professor Grimalkin certainly DID seem to have a temper.   


  


**(c) S Watkins, 2001**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	5. Elementary Magic

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net][1]

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Four: Elementary Magic**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**~ ~ ~**

After the extremely dubious start, Professor Grimalkin's Defence Against the Dark Arts class began to settle down. Still alarmed by his show of anger, the class concentrated hard on what he was telling them, and found, to their surprise, that the shy, stuttering man was actually rather eloquent once he got into the swing of his subject.

"Elementals," he was saying. He wrote the word on the board and turned round to face the class. He was visibly shaking, and he stammered over his carefully prepared notes. "I'm sure you're all aware," he said, softly, "that there are four main elements." He flicked his wand into his hand and one at a time, the four elements appeared as tiny illustrative illusions before him. "Earth. Water. Air. And fire."

As swiftly as they had come into being, the illusions winked out again.

He left a slight pause and shuffled the papers in his hand, still nervous. "To understand how to defend yourself against the Dark Arts more effectively, it is also necessary to understand more about the nature of magic itself." He looked around at the class and was somewhat startled to see he actually seemed to have their attention. Bolstered up by this, he continued.

"This is what our class today will be about. I haven't had a chance to order in the things that I want to show you on a practical level, so we're going to have a discussion about this subject."

There was a collective groan. Not ANOTHER theory lesson!

Professor Grimalkin continued, ignoring the class. "For every positive benefit of each of the elements, there is a negative. Fire burns. Fire also warms. Water drowns - water also nourishes. It is up the user to determine how each one ultimately turns. Nothing is truly evil unless it's intent and purpose is."

He was becoming more confident with each word, and soon left his notes on the desk altogether and began pacing the room, making things up as he went along. He was surprised at how easily it came. 

"Tell me one thing. Have you ever stopped to consider how the elements react to each other? Let's start with fire. One of the most fearsome forces on earth can be stopped by water, one of the seemingly most harmless. Cold air can freeze water in its tracks. And sometimes the reactions are harmonious. Air feeds fire, giving it strength. Water gives dry earth pliability. Everything can ultimately be traced back to a root in these four elements. Water can help a tree to grow to be the strongest plant in the world, but a landslide of catastrophic proportions can rip it to the ground."

This was no longer the shy, awkward teacher who had entered the classroom this morning. This was an intelligent, articulate young man, passionate about his own words. The poet and artist in him gave his words credence, and complimented with his very gentle Welsh lilt gave them an almost hypnotic influx.

"Fire! Flood! Earthquakes! Tornados!" He banged his fist onto the desk after each word, as if to emphasise it. Then, in a softer voice, he said, "Warmth. Cleanliness. Nourishment. A gentle summer's breeze. The same root - different results."

His face was animated as he spoke, his wand waving around, and realistic little illusions appearing before him as he discussed each item.

"I want you to go away after class and consider the elements. Consider the good things and the bad things. Consider the pros, the cons. The strengths, weaknesses, advantages and threats. List them down. And you may be surprised at which of the four turns out to be the most powerful."

He leaned forward, his hands set on the desk, his blue eyes glinting. "I'll give you something to start with. It isn't the one that you think it is."

Flicking his wand lazily, the chalk leapt into the air and began scribbling furiously on the board. "I want you to write these things down, and tell me, from your own conclusions, what you believe constitutes the difference between good and evil. For example. Is evil purely destructive? Or can evil create as well? Summoning a fire demon, for example, is considered a Dark Arts spell. Yet it is creating something from nothing. Is that totally evil?"

A large question mark appeared on the blackboard.

He reached the crescendo of his little monologue, and as he spoke, he turned to a different student each time, pointing at them as he spoke, as if he could somehow help his words take effect.

"A spark of fire can cause a blaze that will destroy a forest in the blink of an eye, yet at the same time can warm and light the darkness. A glass of water can be the gift of life to a dying man, but to a small insect, it can be an ocean in which it drowns. A clod of earth can be home to a beautiful flower, or a poisonous toadstool. A breath of air can be the elixir of life, but to any creature with gills...it is death."   
  
Finally, the chalk ceased its endless scratching, falling to the ground and the Professor fell silent. There was a pregnant pause. Finally he looked up, and the articulacy that had gripped him during his lecture seemed to have packed up its things and gone south for the winter. "Consider," he said, shyly and softly. "Consider and write up your impressions of the elements."  
  
He sat down and drew a few deep breaths. "Any questions?"

For long moments, nobody could say anything. They had been captivated by his presentation. When Snape held a theory lesson, it was all they could do to keep from falling asleep. But then - Professor Grimalkin apparently had a gift for illusion that the dour-faced Potions Master didn't have. They had never seen any of their teachers use what was often considered the wasted, artistic side of the Art to enhance what they were saying in such a manner.

It was all some of them could do to keep from applauding, even, to his surprise, Ron. Finally, Hermione's hand shot up into the air.

The young Professor smiled at her. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Sir, is it true that when it comes to elemental magic, the Muggle adage 'to fight fire with fire' is truly inaccurate?"

"Just so, Miss Granger," beamed Professor Grimalkin. "If one of you - " he whirled around and waved his wand. An illusion of a fire demon appeared in front of Neville, who pushed away from his desk squeaking in surprise, "was attacked by a fire demon, to cast a fire spell on it would be a fatal error."

He concentrated.

A perfect, tiny replica of Neville appeared in front of the fire demon. Perfect down to the 'O' of horror on his face. The tiny replica waved his wand and chanted unheard words. A jet of flame flew from the end of his illusory wand and the fire demon swelled in size.

His blue eyes twinkling, Professor Grimalkin flicked his own wand again.

"However, if we adopt the simple...opposite principle of elemental magic..."

The tiny Neville waved his wand, and a jet of water splashed onto the demon, extinguishing it. The replica grinned and held up its thumbs before winking out of existence. The real Neville swelled with pride.

"Wow, sir," breathed Dean Thomas. "You're good at this! You should be teaching Illusion!"

"Thank you," replied Professor Grimalkin, grinning slightly. "Should the job ever become vacant, I will consider it."

Before anyone could comment further, the final bell of the day rang. "Don't forget, I want you to write up a summary on this topic for next class, please," called Professor Grimalkin, raising his voice to be heard over the increased noise caused by the rush to leave.

As the last of the class left, Anders sat heavily back down in his chair, a faint grin on his face, a sense of relief flooding through him. He had made it through the first day of school without making any major errors...apart from, perhaps, falling off his chair.

It was a much happier-looking Professor Grimalkin who sat down to dinner that night, eating his lamb chops with great gusto and noisy enthusiasm, much to the apparent disgust of Professor Snape who glowered at the young man darkly.

"That wasn't a bad first lesson," conceded Harry, when Ron asked him for his ongoing opinion of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. "But didn't you wonder at all what Peeves was on about?"

"Peeves? Nah. He's just a trouble maker, isn't he?" Ron waved his fork around enthusiastically, sending peas spraying all over Hermione. "But he's great with those illusions! Wonder if he'll teach ME how to do that?"

Hermione coldly picked up the peas that were in her lap and put them back on Ron's plate. "Like you would pay any attention anyway?" she said, a little scornfully. "You need to have patience for Illusions, Ron."

"Didn't look like Grimalkin had that much patience to me," replied Ron, cheerfully talking through a mouthful of dinner. "Peeves really rubbed him up the wrong way, huh?"

"Peeves rubs EVERYONE up the wrong way."

"Still," said Harry, thoughtfully. "I think I'd like to know what Peeves was on about. 'What is it Professor Grimalkin doesn't have that everyone else does'?"

"Does it really matter?" snapped Hermione. "Don't you think the poor man has been through enough without us gossiping about him behind his back? Why not just give him a chance?" Her outburst caused her two friends to stare at her a little. She was clearly extremely taken with the young Professor. She broke under their stares and fell silent for a few moments. "I feel sorry for him," she added, by way of explanation. "I mean, come on Harry - you didn't believe Si...Padfoot was innocent at first. Imagine how Grimalkin must feel?"

She had a point. Harry sighed. "I'm not saying I don't trust him, Hermione," he said, picking his words carefully so as not to unnecessarily antagonise her. "I'm just curious." He shrugged. "That's all."

At the teacher's table, Professor Grimalkin was looking decidedly content as he waded through his third helping of treacle tart and custard. Snape was looking at him with utter disapproval and disgust on his face, and then the Potions Master happened to glance down the table to where Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting.

A slow, extremely unpleasant smile spread onto his face.

He leaned across tiny Professor Flitwick who was sat between him and Grimalkin, and said something that caused Grimalkin's spoon to pause between his plate and his mouth. The young Professor looked up at the walls and swallowed his mouthful of dessert. His face drained of colour as Snape sat back, a satisfied look evident.

Professor Grimalkin ate the remainder of his dinner in a hurry, getting to his feet almost before he had put his spoon down. He made his excuses and hurried out of the Great Hall. 

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged glances, and an unseen reprimand passed between them.

"I wonder what THAT was all about?" whispered Hermione. "Snape really seems to hate Professor Grimalkin, doesn't he?"

"Understatement of the year," said Ron, cheerfully.

Dinner finished, the students left the Great Hall heading for their respective common rooms. 

* * *

"May I come in, Anders, my boy?"

"Certainly, Professor Dumbledore."

Professor Grimalkin was sat alone in his Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, apparently preparing classes for the following day. He glanced up at the Headmaster and smiled.

"How has your first day been?"

"Most interesting, Headmaster," said the young man, almost - but not quite - enthusiastically. "I was a little nervous to start with, but...it got easier as the day went on."

"I knew there was no reason to doubt you." The old wizard beamed at Anders like a father who was inordinately proud of a son, and took a seat at one of the desks. His kindly old face took on a serious mien.

"Tell me if Severus pushes things too far, please, Anders."

The young Professor laughed, humourlessly. "Was it that obvious?"

"Painfully."

Anders sat down and sighed heavily. "He always disliked me...and after that spell he cast..."

"Don't talk about it, my boy if it's too painful a memory."

"Painful memory? Oh, no, Headmaster, you misunderstand, see. It's not about the pain of that day. It's about the pain of how I had to live with the consequences of what Snape did. It was alright for him. He just stood back and watched."

A flash of anger glinted in Anders' eyes, and Dumbledore put a hand on his arm. "Easy, my boy. Severus likes to hold grudges, as you know - but he also likes to hold his...shall we say...successes, too."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, as Anders continued to bustle around getting his stuff together. Occasionally Dumbledore would offer up a comment or suggestion and the young man would nod, his dark ponytail bobbing in response.

"Anders..." Dumbledore said, finally, when the last book had been placed. Anders tipped his head on one side and looked carefully at the Headmaster. "I came here to explain something I know has been bothering you."

Anders sat down again and looked across the desk at Dumbledore, a slightly sad expression on his face. "You can read me like a book, Headmaster. You always could. Yes. Tell me."

"Your trial. I could not appear as a character witness...because..." Dumbledore hesitated, stroking his long white beard. "Because they found out the truth about our...relationship. Said it would be biaised."  
  
Anders sighed heavily. "How did they find out? I never told a soul."

"Unfortunately, somebody in your mother's family answered an innocent question that traced back to our ultimate relationship. The two-and-twenty were aware from the middle of the trial that I am your uncle."

Anders shook his head. "Great Uncle." He smiled very weakly. "I had to keep that to myself all these years." He looked up at Dumbledore, his eyes bright with tears. "You're the only wizarding family I'm aware that I have. Do you have any idea how hard it's been to keep this quiet?"

"I know, Anders. And maybe...one day we can make it public knowledge. But for now...it's easier - and safer - that we don't." Dumbledore patted Anders' arm again. "There is nobody in this school who knows the truth," he said. "And that's the way I would like it to stay - for now."

"Yes, Headmaster," said Anders, a dull ache in his heart. "I understand." Of course Dumbledore wouldn't want it public knowledge. How ashamed would one of the most powerful wizards in England - in the world - be to have an accused murderer for a nephew?

Dumbledore stood up, and - as he always did - seemed to pull the thoughts out of Anders' head.

"I AM proud of you, my boy. Just as your mother would have been and her family still are. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You are a credit, Anders Grimalkin, not a failure."

He touched his nephew's shoulder briefly, and Anders dropped his head in shy embarrassment. "We will clear your name totally one day soon," promised Dumbledore in a low, passionate kind of voice. "Then our relationship need no longer be kept purely to ourselves."

And then he was gone, leaving Anders standing, his head bowed, tears leaking slowly from his eyes. The agony of having a blood relative and not being able to acknowledge them was just another stone on his already breaking back.

* * *

"Found out anything interesting, then, Hermione?" Harry slid into the squashy armchair next to where his friend was poring over the newspaper cuttings.

"Nothing we didn't already know," she said, scanning another article. "These articles mostly rave on about what a good Seeker he is...was. You would probably have enjoyed watching him." She handed him one of the articles which more or less praised the young Welshman as the 'finest export Wales had seen since Merlin'. The magical pictures of him showed a young man happy but uncomfortable with his growing fame, a young man who was constantly battling to overcome his natural reticence at being in the public eye.

"And then..." Hermione passed Anders another newspaper. It was the report on Anders' arrest and removal to Azkaban. It described, naturally in full and bloody detail, the incident on the Quidditch pitch that had seen the death of the Norwegian Beater and the serious wounding of Grimalkin after a death-plunge of nearly one hundred feet.

The magical photograph in that edition had been taken by one of the crowd at the moment of impact. It was a poor picture, but constantly replayed the moment that the slender young Seeker slammed into the Beater, knocking his opponent from his broom and tumbling to the ground in a mass of arms, legs and broomsticks. Harry shuddered, handing Hermione back her paper.

"It's amazing he survived at all," he said.

"He landed on top of the Beater," said Hermione softly. "Otherwise he would have ended up as a stain on the pitch as well."

Harry winced again.

Hermione flipped through the editions of the Daily Prophet. "From that point on, he stopped being a hero and became a target and an object of directed hatred." She scowled. "Rita Skeeter ripped him to shreds, calling him all sorts of things - and the public just lapped it up. Within about two months of his arrest, he was one of the most hated people the wizarding community has ever known."

She threw down the edition in disgust. "Just another example of how easily led people can be."

"You have to admit, Hermione," said Harry, carefully. "That photograph DID look like pretty damning evidence." He held up his hands as she shot him a furious glance. "I'm not saying he did it - the judges found him not guilty, and I'm not about to start questioning their reasons. But...just suppose - just hypothesise for a moment - that he DID do it?"

"Dumbledore obviously believes in him," she said, stubbornly. "And when have you ever known him to be wrong?"

She had a good point. Harry, like the majority of people, trusted Dumbledore's judgement without question. But there had been something more than that in the Headmaster's words at the Feast, something that reeked of 'if you mess with Professor Grimalkin, you mess with me'. Why was the Headmaster so obviously protective of Grimalkin?

Just another unanswerable question to add to the growing list.  


**(c) S Watkins, 2001**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	6. Pushing the Envelope

Shadow of a Doubt - Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [][1]Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Five: Pushing the Envelope**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**~ ~ ~**

The weeks leading up to Christmas slipped away more swiftly than anyone could ever remember. Lessons were full of constant reminders about the upcoming O.W.L. mock examinations, and by the end of October, even Hermione had the jitters.

Harry had taken some of the pressure off by gathering his Quidditch team together and heading out for regular practises. Now the team captain, he was starting to understand a little of what had made Oliver Wood tick. 

He had also noticed, on several occasions, a tall, slender figure, dressed in dark robes and with a cigarette invariable burning between its fingers. Just standing at the edge of the pitch, watching their practises with a faintly wistful expression. Professor Grimalkin.

The young Professor's Defence Against the Dark Arts classes had proven to be a hit with every class - except, of course, the one that contained Draco Malfoy. From what little information Harry had been able to glean, Malfoy had delighted in constantly reminding the Professor about his 'history', and bringing up the subject of Azkaban at least three times a lesson. To the Professor's credit, he had apparently not once risen to the constant baiting and had remind mild in the face of Malfoy's taunts.

The fifth years had enjoyed Professor Grimalkin's lessons, each one being illustrated with more spectacular illusions than the ones he had produced in the first class. Under heavy pressure from his various students, the shy, retiring young man had set up an Illusions class after school, and had thrown himself into it whole heartedly. Albus Dumbledore had smiled to himself. Grown wizards generally had little use for Illusion other than as a form of recreation - but it was good to show the students there were more entertainments than Quidditch. He also didn't believe that the popularity of the class - particularly amongst the female students - was entirely down to the desire to learn the subject.

Harry had turned down Hermione's invitation to accompany her to Illusion classes, but Ron, surprisingly, had been very keen. It annoyed Hermione even more when, after the first class was over, it transpired that Ron had a natural aptitude for the subject. He beamed happily at her.

"You've got your brain, Harry's got his Quidditch...it's about time I found something that I could do."

Professor Snape continued to mock Grimalkin at every opportunity, and it was getting harder for Anders to ignore it. Peeves the poltergeist turned up at least once a day to taunt him further, and it was becoming more and more difficult for him to hold his temper in. Frequent, brief explosions at students helped, and once they had established he was just letting off steam, most of the students were no longer bothered by his occasional shows of petulant temper, and indeed, in-house competitions began to see who could get the most swear words out of him in one lesson.

Since the first of September, Anders Grimalkin had changed quite noticeably from a shy, retiring and nervous young man into one whose personality seemed to bloom under the nurturing environment that Hogwarts had given him.   
  
Hermione watched him at breakfast on the morning of Hallow'een. He was eating heartily, talking to Professor Flitwick happily, and waving his fork around animatedly. The tiny Charms Professor had to keep ducking in order to avoid a face full of sausage. 

He was looking much healthier and more filled-out than he had when he had first arrived, for which Hermione was secretly pleased. She had always considered that he looked as if he would snap in two with one hard shove, he was that fragile.

"...and then back to Honeydukes," Ron was saying enthusiastically to her. She blinked and stared at him. 

"Sorry, Ron?"

"Hermione, have you heard a word I've been saying?"

"Sorry," she apologised again, shaking her head. "I was miles away."

"Oh, yeah," said Ron, a sly grin crossing his face. "I could see where, too." She flushed hotly, and Harry nudged Ron in the ribs.

"We were discussing what we're going to do in Hogsmeade," explained Harry. "I assume you'll put your books down long enough to come with us?"

"Of course I will," she said, glad for Harry's ability to change the subject and stop her being the target of Ron's ridicule any more. She entered into the discussion more intently, hoping to detract from the fact that her attention was still up at the head of the tables with the young Professor.

* * *

The conversation up at the teacher's table was surprisingly similar to that taking place further down the hall. "You SHOULD go, Professor," said McGonagall to Grimalkin. "You never really went on the Hogsmeade trips as a student, did you?"

"No," he admitted, a wry smile on his face. "My...da wouldn't sign the permission slip."

"You don't NEED permission any more, Professor, you're a grown man. Go. The fresh air can only do you good. You don't go outside at all except to smoke those disgusting cigarettes of yours that I've noticed." Her expression softened. "I would have thought you'd had enough of being indoors." Grimalkin paled a little.

"I don't know," he said. "I like being indoors. Besides, if I'm outside too long, my lungs disagree with me." He rapped himself sharply on the ribcage. "Still a bit...inclined to catching coughs and colds."

"You're making excuses now," said McGonagall, sharply. Then she laughed. "Sometimes it's hard to remember you're no longer a student, Anders. Of course, the rest of us will be going, so you'll only have yourself for company."

"My favourite," he said, smiling back. "Alright, Professor...maybe I will just take a quick trip in. Who knows? I may even enjoy myself."  
"Excellent," she beamed.

At this moment, Hagrid entered the room and after waving and saying a brief 'hello' to Harry and his friends, strode up to sit on the other side of Anders, with whom he immediately entered into a discussion about Welsh dragon types. The young Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was almost as keen as Hagrid on weird and wonderful creatures, it had transpired, probably, Hermione thought, explaining in some way the peculiar friendship the two had.

Hermione, still listening to Ron waffling on about what he would be buying from Zonko's Joke Shop, let her attention try to catch what was being said. Hagrid's voice wasn't exactly...gentle at the best of times, so she did not have to strain too hard.

"That's wonderful," he was saying. "We can go for a drink or two in the Three Broomsticks and talk about this some more!" 

Did that mean the Professor would be coming to Hogsmeade with them? Hermione was alarmed at the way her heart skipped a beat at the thought of it. ~Remember Lockhart~, she told herself fiercely. ~Looks aren't everything!~

But what looks.

* * *

Professor Grimalkin walked in the company of Hagrid, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, well wrapped up to the point that all that was visible of him over the huge scarf he wore were his bright blue eyes. The hood of his robes was pulled up around his head, and when he spoke, it was so muffled that nobody could really understand him. 

They reached Hogsmeade, and Anders and Hagrid peeled away from the others to head straight for the Three Broomsticks, although Anders did momentarily look wistfully at Honeydukes. The stuff of legends, he thought, with a huge sigh. Was probably better not to go in for fear of disappointment.

Hagrid led him into the Three Broomsticks and ushered him over into a corner, fairly close to the fire that roared in the grate. He waved over Madam Rosmerta, the pretty witch who ran the pub, and ordered himself a tankard of beer. After some hesitation, Anders plumped for a cup of coffee.

"You sure, lad? Can't tempt you into something stronger?" Hagrid asked him, raising one eyebrow curiously. Anders shook his head.

"No, Hagrid," he said. "I saw enough of that with my Da. Kind of...put me off, you could say." Rosmerta returned with their drinks and shot Anders an appreciative sort of look before heading back off to the bar. Hagrid nodded sympathetically and patted his young friend's arm.  
  
"So how you settlin' in, then?" Hagrid asked, wiping the foam from ale away from his moustached lip. Anders shrugged, but there was a grin on his face.

"I'm loving it, Hagrid. The students are actually LISTENING to me, which is a miracle in itself - and aside from one or two snide remarks from Draco Malfoy..." He noticed Hagrid's look darken - "I think I'm doing alright. Oh. Peeves continues to press his advantage though." He took a sip of coffee. "Nobody seems to have figured out what he's talking about - thank goodness for him and his need to be cryptic."

"It'll all work out in the end, Anders," Hagrid said, kindly. "Peeves is ignored by most people anyway. But you know...when the ghosts found out about...about..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "About...IT...they were totally unnerved. Accused you of all sorts of Dark Magic and the like."

"I know," said Anders, wretchedly. "If it hadn't been for Snape casting that spell, I'd have got away with it until I'd left Hogwarts. But he knew. He knew all the time."

The door opened, letting in a cold draft of air. Anders and Hagrid glanced up to see Harry, Ron and Hermione entering, laden down with bags from Honeydukes and Zonko's. Hagrid grinned. "If they want to, mind if they sit with us, Anders?"

"No, not at all," he replied, grinning himself. "I'm getting rather fond of the three of them." 

"'ere, Harry, over 'ere!" Hagrid stood up and boomed across the pub. Anders sank into his chair, wincing. Hermione waved back at Hagrid and the three crossed the room to sit down with the two teachers. Hermione found herself, much to a confused mixture of delight and horror, sitting next to Professor Grimalkin.

The afternoon wore on, and after a fairly hesitant start, Anders found himself involved in the conversation, happily contributing and even finally succumbing to Hagrid's offer of more beer. The light outside began to fade, lengthening the shadows in the room, and the young Professor felt sleepy and happy, more relaxed than he had done for some time.

He was not aware, therefore, of the look of intrigue and uncertainty that Hermione was shooting him, nor did he notice when she moved the candlestick in the middle of the table to a slightly different angle.

"We'd best be headin' back to the castle," said Hagrid finally, reluctantly, his bearded face pink from the ale and heat in the room. "Hallow'een feast tonight!"

"Yes," said Hermione, her gaze still riveted on Professor Grimalkin who looked for all the world like he was about to nod off. He met her look and gave her a sleepy smile that made her stomach flutter. "Thank you for the company," she said to him.

"Mm. You too." He grinned at first her and then the boys. "See you tonight." Ron and Harry had already got to their feet and were heading for the door. Hermione lingered a moment longer, as if wanting to ask Professor Grimalkin something, but seemed to lose confidence in herself. She joined her friends at the door and they left to go back to Hogwarts.  
  
"Lovely kids, them," said Hagrid, fiercely. "Th' number o' times they've come through for me..."

"Yeah," agreed Anders, helping the other man to his feet. He stared after Hermione, who had been glancing back over her shoulder giving him a look that was all-too familiar to him. "Lovely kids."

* * *

Hermione was strangely subdued on the trip back to the castle, but neither Ron nor Harry really noticed, buoyed up as they were by a day well spent with the promise of a feast to look forward to. She left the boys in the Entrance Hall, saying that she needed to go to the library to check something out. They stared at her like she was mad, but said nothing as she disappeared around the corner.

"She never stops," grumbled Ron. "It's about time Hermione learned to loosen up."

There was definitely something occupying the mind of their friend, Harry thought as an hour later, they headed down to the Great Hall, which had been suitably decorated for the occasion. They ducked as the bats freewheeled around the starry ceiling and grinned back at the countless pumpkin lanterns that lined the walls. They were feeling decidedly light-headed and happy as they took their seats next to Hermione, who was already there.

She barely glanced up at them, seemingly lost and absorbed in the book she was reading. Ron grinned at Harry. "Hermione...put the book DOWN, for heavens sake."

Obediently, she put a marker in the book and closed it, putting it on the floor under her chair. She lowered her voice considerably. "I think I know the answer to Peeves' riddle."

Harry and Ron looked mystified. Hermione sighed. "You know. The one about what Professor Grimalkin hasn't got that everyone else has...?" Slow dawning of comprehension crossed their faces. "I got the strangest feeling earlier when I was sat next to him in the Three Broomsticks," she began, but was interrupted by Professor Dumbledore standing up in his seat to announce the beginning of the Hallow'een feast. To Hermione's chagrin, her friends seemed to immediately lose interest in what she had to say as they began to eat. She sighed inwardly. It would wait.

* * *

Anders ate with a healthy appetite, supplementing his dinner with several goblets of wine that left him a little more drunk than he realised. He must have been intoxicated, because when Snape hissed something at him, he merely grinned cheerfully and raised his goblet in toast to the Potions Master.

"You're drunk," said Snape, in disgust. "Fine example to set."

"Woo. Professor Snape, model teacher," he giggled in response. "'Scuse ME, your worshipfulness. I'm just having a good time. Something wrong with that?"  
  
Snape did not rise to the bait, merely shot Anders a look that warned him against taking this conversation any further. Anders returned to his dinner, eating and drinking happily. Snape, getting angrier with the young man by the second, finally shoved his chair back from the table, made his excuses and marched out of the Hall.

"'Bye, Professor," called Anders cheerfully, waving after him. He felt eyes boring into the back of his neck and turned to see Dumbledore shaking his head grimly. But Anders was in that dangerous, devil-may-care mood that had seen him get into trouble several times before - the attitude that made him almost entirely impervious to what sort of impression he was making.

"I'll go 'pologise, shall I?" he said, a broad grin splitting his handsome face. Dumbledore sighed.

"Leave it, Anders. Just let Snape go and stew. Don't push him."

But Anders had already got to his feet, swaying dangerously. "I'll just go say sorry, then come straight back, Headmaster. Wouldn't want Professor Snape thinking I'm rude or anything, now, would I?"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes heavenwards.

* * *

DAMN the man! 

Severus Snape marched angrily out of the Great Hall. Why did Anders Grimalkin, even now, have the power to irritate him so very much? It was almost entirely unjustified, of course - and Snape was aware of that, very, almost painfully aware.

"Professor Snape?"

No. Surely the boy wasn't foolish enough to have followed him out of the Great Hall? He never had learned when to leave well enough alone. Snape turned slowly to face him. "What do you want, Grimalkin?"

"Just wanted to apologise. Back in there..." He gestured with his head vaguely. "I was a bit rude. I'm sorry."

Snape said nothing. Anders furrowed his brow. "I said, I'm sorry. Didn't you hear me?"

Still silence. Anders knew he should leave it there, but somehow...somehow he just couldn't. A white-hot flame of fury lit in the pit of his stomach, and the temper that he had become justly famous for began spreading its fire around his body. "Don't ignore me, Severus," he said, deliberately using the Professor's first name in an attempt to show that they were no longer different, that they were equals, in status if not in attitude. "I'm offering you an apology. The least you could do is have the good grace to accept it."

Snape watched him for what seemed like a long time until finally, with a short laugh, he treated Anders to a mock bow before spinning on his heel and marching away again.  
  
Anders stared after him incredulously, then turned away. As he began to walk, however, his body suddenly stiffened as...something happened to him that he'd only ever experienced once before. The sensation of whispering. Inside his mind.

// You're just going to let him walk away? You coward. //

Just once before. Just before something had made him direct his broomstick so that it slammed into the solar plexus of Olaf Peterssen. "I'm not a coward," he muttered, clenching his fists beneath his robes.

// Prove it then. //

The voice was SNEERING at him. Anders felt the heat rise in his face, but struggled desperately to keep it down. Behind him, Severus Snape had heard him muttering to himself, and had turned to stare at him coldly. The Anders Grimalkin he had known as a student had been possessed of the most impressive temper the Potions Master could ever recall having seen. The slight, slender young boy had lifted people off their feet up against the wall in rage on occasion. He'd told Dumbledore. A temper like that needed to be watched carefully.

And he watched carefully now, coolly distant.

The young wizard was clearly fighting with some strange inner demons. Snape watched with moderate curiosity as his fists clenched and unclenched, and his shoulders shook with barely suppressed rage.

"Are you going to do anything, boy, or are you going to just stand there?"

// Do it. //

"I...can't," Anders gasped. "I can't do that."

"What can't you do, Grimalkin? Look at me when I'm speaking to you." Snape's voice was raised in anger of his own now. But Anders did not respond. Enraged, Snape marched up to him, getting hold of him by the shoulder and turning Grimalkin around to face him. "What can't you do?"

"Don't touch me," said Grimalkin, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "Never touch me again." His face was white, and there was - strangely - a look of confusion there. Snape chose not to question the confusion, however.

"You started this 'discussion', Grimalkin," said Snape, his face close to Grimalkin's. "Are you going to end it?"

// DO IT! //

"NO!" The young Professor let out a scream of enraged fury, and, grabbing Snape by the shoulders of his robe, slammed him into the wall, gasping in drawn-out ragged breaths. Severus Snape winced as the pain of Grimalkin's sudden attack took him by surprise. 

"Come on then, Grimalkin. This is the opportunity you've been waiting for. What are you going to do about it?" Snape's voice was cruelly taunting and, combined with the whispering words in his head, Anders was beginning to lose control of himself.

"Nothing, Severus." He let go of the other Professor's robes and stood back. "I'm going to do precisely nothing."

It was roughly at this moment that Dumbledore and McGonagall came out of the Great Hall. Disturbed by the length of Anders' absence, they had come to find out what was happening. Snape and Grimalkin were standing a little way down the corridor, in some sort of face off. 

"Nothing? Just what I'd expect from you," sneered Snape nastily. "What's the matter, Grimalkin? Lost your spine as well? Maybe you create one of THOSE as an illusion and trick everyone into believing you are normal."

"Severus, leave it!" Dumbledore hurried over and placed himself between the two men. "Anders, go upstairs and stick your head in the sink or something. I will not tolerate this behaviour amongst my staff. Do you understand me?"

Several faces peered around the door of the Great Hall, Harry, Ron and Hermione amongst them. They had heard Snape's comment about Professor Grimalkin's spine and had winced collectively. 

"I'm leaving anyway, Headmaster," said Snape, dusting down his robes as if something nasty had touched them. He walked past Professor Grimalkin, shooting him a glare of malicious proportions.

// Do it now, boy. Or suffer the consequences. //

Anders clenched his hands into fists again. "Professor Snape?" he called after the retreating man, who stopped dead, but didn't turn round. "Professor Snape...I challenge you..."

Dumbledore began shaking his head frantically, drawing his finger across his throat in a 'kill it' gesture, but Anders continued on blindly. "...I challenge you to a Wizard's Duel."

The group at the door of the Great Hall held their breaths. A challenge like this could not be refused without causing the challenged party great shame and embarrassment. And even Dumbledore could not interfere now. The challenge, once laid down, was between the two wizards involved - and no-one else. 

All eyes turned to Snape. The Potions Master looked coldly at Anders for a few seconds, then turned his head slightly towards Dumbledore, whose expression was curiously blank. 

"I accept," said Snape in a soft, dangerous voice. "Tomorrow. At one o'clock."

He performed the same low, mocking bow and walked away, his black robes billowing out behind him.

**(c) S Watkins, 2001**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	7. The Duel

Shadow of a Doubt - Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [][1]Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Six: The Duel**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**~ ~ ~**

Anders stood for a few moments, his face as white as a sheet, then, with a semi-triumphant look at Dumbledore and McGonagall, wheeled around and stalked off towards his own rooms, without a backward glance.

"Albus..." began Professor McGonagall, making as if to go after the young man, but the Headmaster shook his head and caught her arm. "Albus, we must put a stop to this," she insisted. "This is not a squabble between two students - these are two fully grown, both very capable wizards."

"They are as stubborn as each other, Minerva," he said, a tone of sadness in his voice. "If we try to stop them doing this thing, they will simply continue to rile one another. I will place a charm of protection on them both before they start. They will not be injured, but somebody's pride may well take a nasty dent."

The Headmaster turned to look at the sea of faces that gazed at him from the Great Hall. "Back inside and enjoy yourselves," he beamed. "Dessert time, I think!"

Reluctantly, the students returned to their seats, but soon brightened up when they spread the gossip to their comrades who had not managed to get to the door. Soon, all four tables were taking sides and deciding who was going to win. Only the Slytherin table seemed to be having difficulty deciding. After all - hadn't Professor Grimalkin been a Slytherin in his day?

"Well, I think they're both idiots," said Hermione, huffily after being asked for the umpteenth time who she thought would win. "Professor Grimalkin was silly to challenge Snape to a Duel, and Snape was even sillier to accept the challenge."

"If he'd refused it, he'd have lost face in the sight of the whole school," explained Ron patiently. In his view, Hermione was a girl, and therefore had no idea about such concepts as 'honour' and 'pride'.

"Well, I think it's stupid," she said, insistently, eating her slice of chocolate gateau and refusing to comment any further on the situation. 

Draco Malfoy and his cronies crossed the Hall to stand in front of Harry. "Your pet Professor is going to make a fool of himself tomorrow, Granger," said Malfoy, smirking. "With a bit of luck, Snape might just add a bit more interest to that stupid face of his."

"He's NOT my 'pet Professor', Malfoy, and you're blocking my view of the portraits."

"Snape will wipe the floor with his pony tail. Don't know why he has to have that stupid, girly hair, makes him look weak and feeble. Like a girl." Ron bristled at this: his eldest brother Bill was the proud owner of a pony tail. Ron thought it was cool.

Hermione stared straight through Malfoy, who was starting to get angry.

"I bet if I was to challenge YOU to a duel, Granger, you'd find some soppy excuse to get out of it."

Silence. 

Malfoy gave up. He couldn't be bothered to rub people up the wrong way if they didn't bite. He motioned to Crabbe and Goyle with a flick of his hand, and the three Slytherins left. Harry and Ron looked at Hermione, impressed.

"That was brilliant, Hermione. Brilliant!" Ron said, admiringly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. She smiled back. "Something I read in a book today. If something is bothering you, just ignore it - it'll probably go away." She bent down and picked up the book under her chair. "Apparently, there's a whole group of wizards who can become completely invisible simply by making people ignore them. Fascinating."

Harry squinted at the book. "Unexplained Magical Phenomena: A Beginner's Guide to the Magically Mysterious." Hermione held the book out to him, and Harry flipped through a few pages. "Myths and Legends? Wow, Hermione's reading fiction?"

"Not fiction," she said absently. "It explains why real wizarding powers are mistaken for legends. Like the disappearing wizards. It's a very interesting book." She opened the book at the page where she had put her book mark. "There," she said.

Harry followed her finger down the page and stopped. "The Umbra. That the one?" She nodded, biting her lip. "The Umbra are a rare breed of vampire that have been known to strike in the Muggle World as well as the wizarding world. The Umbra are set apart from their other vampire brethren in several important ways. Firstly, they are genetically different in that they are able, on the whole, to blend almost seamlessly into society. Secondly, they are characterised by an uncanny ability to hold people's attention when they speak, almost as though they have cast a Fascination Charm over their audience. This is not (usually) the case: the Umbra have a great sense of presence, and it is a strong willed person indeed who can resist the full charisma of an Umbra."

Harry put the book down and narrowed his eyes. "What's this about, Hermione?"

She shook her head, still biting her lip, tears appearing in her eyes. "Read there," she said, pointing out a passage.

"One way to recognise an Umbra is that it casts no shadow." Harry looked up, furrowing his brow. Hermione nodded.

"I was trying to tell you," she said, almost wretchedly. "Today, in Hogsmeade? In the Three Broomsticks? When the candles were lit...I was warm, and cosy. Happy. I was watching the four shadows on the wall."

"Four?" said Ron. "But there were FIVE of us..." He broke off and stared at Harry. "What does Professor Grimalkin not have that everyone else has...especially at noon?"

The three of them said it together.

"A shadow."

* * *

They were right, of course. Anders Grimalkin DID have no shadow, but he was not a vampire. At least, not that anybody had been able to prove. He had no insatiable blood lust, no aversion to crucifixes, and was therefore totally flummoxed as to why he had no shadow. He had had one before he came to Hogwarts, he knew that, so at first had put it down simply to the school, which as everyone knew had a life of its own, playing a cruel joke on him.

But after three weeks had passed and his shadow had still not returned, Anders began to panic. Fortunately for him, everyone in his year was too preoccupied with first year jitters to have noticed. It had been Hagrid, in fact, who had been the first one to notice it 'officially'.

As he sat in his bedroom, downing glass after glass of water in order to take away the nausea that was creeping through him, Anders thought back to that day. When Hagrid had pulled him to one side and, in that unbelievably blunt manner had asked him outright where his shadow was.

He'd been alarmed by the young boy's reaction. Anders had burst into tears and told Hagrid that until his arrival at Hogwarts, he and his shadow had been just fine, thank you so very much, and that he was thinking about running away from the school in the hope his shadow would return.

Hagrid had been watching this pale, slight boy since he had arrived, nervous and frightened, and had been most surprised to see him sorted into Slytherin. The bullies had lynched onto him almost immediately, of course, and Hagrid's worry was that the discovery of Anders' missing 'self' would give them more ammunition to fire at him.

Thus it had been that Hagrid had encouraged Anders to use his natural talent to help him. Anders had, under Hagrid's watchful and critical eye, created an illusory shadow that followed him faithfully everywhere he went. If he became tired, or lost his concentration, the shadow would disappear, but for the most part, Anders was successful in maintaining the illusion.

Snape knew though, Anders thought to himself bitterly. Oh, yes. Snape had known and had waited, biding his time until that day when Anders had been a fifth year, taking a Duelling class.

It flashed through his mind like it had been only yesterday.

"One of the best defences against any other wizard," Snape had said, with an evil glint in his eye, "is to strip them of their defences. Mr Grimalkin, step forward please."

He had done so, slightly nervous. Snape regularly picked on him during Duelling classes, but this tone of voice seemed particularly malevolent. 

"This spell," the Slytherin House Master had hissed, his eyes gleaming, "strips your 'enemy' of any falsehood. Therefore, if a man of five feet had woven an illusion that he was, in fact, an ogre, this spell will reveal the truth." Before Anders could let Snape's words sink in, the teacher had raised his wand and roared "SPOLIO FACTICIUS!"

The Strip Artifice spell had, of course, caused Anders' illusory shadow to dissipate and vanish, leaving the rest of the class very shaken. Snape had been covering Defence Against the Dark Arts classes for a few weeks and, as was his nature, had encouraged the class to read about the different types of vampire.

Ridiculed and immediately outcast even further, Anders had been unable to explain why he had no shadow, and this served only to make his journey to pariah complete. He left school as he had started it. No friends, no respect, and only talents for Illusion and Quidditch to give him any advantage in life.

Now, the man had the chance to pay Snape back for all the misery he had caused with that one lousy spell. ~Tomorrow, Anders,~ he promised himself grimly. ~Tomorrow you'll have the upper hand.~

* * *

The morning dawned rainy and grey, and the mood seemed to be reflected on the faces of several of the students. The feast had not regained its vigour and enthusiasm following the stand-off between the two Professors - that had been FAR more exciting.

Hermione, with some disapproval, noted that some of the students were already sporting badges declaring their support for Professor Snape. "This isn't some sort of entertainment laid on for their benefit," she complained to Ron, who hurriedly tried to conceal his 'Grimalkin' badge from her sight.

Professor Grimalkin was not to be seen at the breakfast table that morning: this in itself came as no great surprise, he had clearly had one too many goblets of wine at the Feast, and was no doubt sleeping it off. Harry and Ron had been disappointed, however. They had laced his breakfast bowl with essence of garlic and had been hoping to see what sort of reaction it provoked.

They had naturally been horrified when Professor Vector, noting the empty seat next to Professor Flitwick had sat there instead.

Ripping their mutually aghast faces from the sight, and trying to ignore the sound of Professor Vector spitting cornflakes out across the table, Harry and Ron suddenly became extremely interested in their own breakfasts. 

Hermione sighed. They were getting worse, she swore they were. They had already told her their plans to go to the library and find out all they could about vampire defence techniques.

"You want to watch out, Hermione," Ron had said, genuine concern in his voice. "He seems to quite like you. What if he decides you're the one he wants to bite?"  
  
"Oh, RON! Nobody's saying he's a vampire, it's just one possible explanation! And besides - why should a vampire who's teaching want to bite anyone? Professor Lupin managed to keep his werewolf problem under control, why shouldn't Professor Grimalkin be the same?"

Ron hadn't been convinced.

The whole Great Hall looked up as Professor Snape entered the room, a look of bored disinterest on his face. As he passed the Slytherin table, they all cheered him, but he ignored it, heading instead for his seat at the top table, next to where Professor Flitwick was busily cleaning cornflakes out of his lap. Ron and Harry swallowed nervously as Snape exchanged a few words with Professor Vector, then took the bowl, sniffing it intently.

* * *

"Allium oleraceum," said Snape, handing the bowl back to Professor Vector. "Don't worry. Just a schoolboy prank. Obviously somebody's idea of a stupid joke." His eyes met those of Harry and Ron and a faint glimmer of a smirk crossed his mouth. "I don't believe anybody was trying to poison Professor Grimalkin. Or you either, Professor Vector."

He ate his own breakfast in silence, not once looking up. "He's nervous, he is," said Dean Thomas, who was proudly wearing a 'Grimalkin' badge. "You can tell."

"Why should Professor Snape be nervous?" said Harry, shrugging. "It's not as if he isn't a good wizard - we know that he is." He couldn't believe he was actually defending his least favourite teacher, but he was feeling a little sorry for the Potions Master. Snape couldn't have refused the challenge - not with half the school watching him. Yes, he felt sorry for Snape, but he was worried for Professor Grimalkin.

* * *

Anders stared blearily at his reflection in the mirror. He did not look good, not good at all. A night with no sleep whatsoever, and being violently sick from a combination of alcohol and a sense of impending doom had left him shaky and miserable. Had he REALLY challenged Snape to a Duel?

He was clearly losing his marbles, what few he had left.

After washing his face, Anders felt a little bit better. He had not lost the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, but was feeling more able to at least stand up without instantly falling down again.

A Duel. He knew that he, as the instigator of this ridiculous state of affairs could not back out of it without becoming a laughing stock, and he knew Severus Snape well enough to know that he would not miss an opportunity to show him, Anders up in public. 

He couldn't possibly win against Snape. The man was older, more experienced, and certainly more level-headed than he was. He was doomed to look like a fool.  
  
Skipping breakfast totally, he headed straight for his classroom. He had the seventh years this morning, and they always made him feel a little better. Most of them were eighteen, only five years younger than him, and they treated him as more of an equal than anyone else. One of the problems Anders had experienced as a teacher, was that half of the time, he was caught between peer groups. He could relate easily to both the students and the adults, and it was sometimes awkward.

He settled in at his desk. The seventh years would surely be less bothered by the impending Duel with Snape than, say, the excitable second years. He was secretly grateful that he didn't have to teach them this morning: he wasn't entirely convinced his poor head would take it.

* * *

By 12.30, of course, he was so fed up of people asking him excitedly what spells he was going to cast, that he didn't care any more. He just wanted to get it over with. Let Snape make a mockery of him, accept that he was a fool...and get on with the rest of the term. 

He ran a shaking hand over his jaw as he headed into the Great Hall to grab something to eat. A sea of enthusiastic and sneering faces turned towards him and he felt suddenly very sick as he made his way somewhat shakily up to the main table. He noticed that most of the platters were now empty - he had been late into lunch, and apart from Professor Sprout who was just finishing up her meal, there were no other teachers present.

"Sir?"

It was Ron Weasley. Anders smiled. "Hello, Ron."

"Just wanted to say, sir, good luck this afternoon. Oh, and I saw you were late in to lunch, sir, so I - we, that is, Harry and I - we saved you some sandwiches..." He handed Professor Grimalkin a plate, an innocent expression on his face.

"Thank you Ron, that's really kind," said Anders, smiling again. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. He picked up one of the sandwiches absently and bit into it.

"What the..." He swallowed the mouthful of sandwich with a grimace. "How much garlic..." He lifted the bread. "A GARLIC sandwich, Ron?"

But Ron had disappeared again.

* * *

Time hurried on as if it were desperate to get there, and it was a very reluctant and sick-looking young Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who walked out of the Hogwarts front doors at ten to one.

Knowing full well just how much interest would be generated, the other teachers made no pretence at all of keeping order in the classes, and simply allowed the students to pour out to gather around what Dumbledore had set up as the duelling arena.

Anders saw, with a sinking heart, that Professor Snape had arrived already. He stood, cool as a cucumber, talking with Professor Dumbledore, who, noting the young Professor's appearance, waved him over.

"You know my rules concerning Duelling, gentlemen," said Dumbledore, sternly. "I will be casting a Protection Charm over both of you before I allow either one of you to put one foot inside that arena. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Headmaster," they both said, eyeing one another up critically.

"I know I am forbidden to intervene in this Duel," continued the Headmaster, "however, I would like to suggest the form which it should take, if I may be so bold?"

Anders furrowed his brow, but Snape looked relatively nonplussed. "Professor Grimalkin," said the Headmaster. "I know you are currently teaching much about the elements in your classes. As you can see, we have rather a splendid turnout of students to this little debacle..."

~Yeah, like the entire SCHOOL...~

"...and I thought, well, why not make the most out of this situation, and include a little teaching? Tell me, Professor Snape. Are you familiar with the Muggle game, "Rock, Scissors, Paper?"

Anders blinked. He knew that game, but failed to see how it applied here.

"Let us say that I am not, Headmaster," said Snape, in a pleasant tone. "Would you care to explain this to me?"

"Simply, Severus, I would count to three, and you and Professor Grimalkin would hold out your hand to indicate rock," Dumbledore made a fist, "scissors," he held out two fingers, "or paper." Dumbledore put his hand flat. "Now then. Say you held out paper, and Professor Grimalkin held out rock, you would win the round, because the paper can wrap around the rock. You see?" The Headmaster beamed.

"I see," said Snape, staring coldly at Anders. "And scissors beat paper and rock beats scissors?"

"Quite right!" beamed Dumbledore. " Excellent, Severus, very perceptive. Well, let's apply the rules of elementary magic here. Say that you cast a fire spell at the same time Professor Grimalkin casts an air spell. You would win, because the air would feed the flame and make it stronger. This way, you get a good chance to test one another's mettle and perception without getting hurt."

Anders blinked again. He had not expected this. He rather feared that Dumbledore was trying to wrap him up in cotton wool. The Headmaster looked from one to the other. "I say that you play this little game for half an hour - and the one with the most 'wins' at the end of that time is declared the winner, we all clap, and then we can go back in to class. How does that sound?"

"Fine," snapped Snape. "Now can we get this ridiculousness under way?"

"Anders?"  


"Yes, Headmaster...sounds...fine to me." Anders was bewildered, but somewhat relieved.

The Headmaster nodded, and, waving his wand, turned first to Snape and then Anders, muttering, "Munimentus!" The Charm of Protection settled over them both, and they walked to separate sides of the arena.

"Now then, gentlemen. Let's put this to the test!"

Anders flicked his wand into his hand in his normal gesture, and Snape did likewise. They stared at each other across the short distance that separated them. The Headmaster shouted out loudly, "One, Two, THREE!"

"Inflammo!" said Anders, sending a jet of flame towards Snape, who had murmured the exact same spell. The two fire spells collided in the centre of the arena and disappeared.

"A draw," declared Dumbledore. The students stared at one another. What sort of duel was this, anyway? A few lost interest immediately and went back inside, but the hardier ones could see the sweat on Professor Grimalkin's brow and realised just how much was at stake.

"One, Two, THREE!"

"Aquatus!"

Anders' water spell met with Snape's second fire spell. The two elemental spells danced around one another momentarily, then the water extinguished the fire, and Snape received the equivalent of a bucket of water in the face. Anders smiled.

Snape did not.

"One to Professor Grimalkin!"

A few students cheered.

Anders grinned inwardly. This was going to be easy.

* * *

He didn't think so twenty five minutes later when he had been subjected to a number of water, air, earth and fire attacks, muted down by the Protection Charm, but still nasty all the same. On top of which, the constant spell casting was making him tired and it was all he could to do to stay upright. Snape didn't look much better, looking singed around the edges from Anders' fire spells.

With only five minutes of the duel left, Dumbledore declared that the score was still a tie. He was privately rather surprised at the similarity between the logical thinking of the two men. They had mostly had draws, both thinking along the same strategic lines as the other. 

"One, two, THREE!" he called.

This time, Snape was the clear winner. Anders didn't even seem to have the energy left to cast a spell, and the fire spell streaked straight across and gave him a nasty jolt.

Smiling slightly, Snape listened with pleasure as Dumbledore added another point to his running total.

Anders was drooping now, and Dumbledore was inclined to call it a day - but Events were about to take a rather dramatic turn. Anders had, he noticed, suddenly stood bolt upright, a vague sort of expression on his face. Dumbledore could make out the words of a spell and a streak of magic shot from Anders' wand towards Snape. Nothing seemed to happen, and Snape didn't even seem to notice.

"Professor Grimalkin? What was that?"

"Headmaster?"

"The spell you just cast."

"My wand was overcharged, Headmaster. I had to dispell. It was from that last air spell. There was residual air in the top of the wand."

It was a feasible enough answer, and Snape did not seem to have been harmed, so the Headmaster simply nodded. He did not notice that Anders had regained his posture, nor did he notice that a faintly evil expression had come over the young man's face.

"One last time, gentlemen," called Dumbledore. "And make it a good one!"

"One..."

// He wants an elemental display? //

"Two..."

// I'll GIVE him an elemental display. The spell you're going to cast is... //

"THREE!"

"ASPHYIXIO!"

Dumbledore started in horror. That was a Dark Magic spell - a spell of attack, a spell that would cause the victim's windpipe to slowly close up, causing slow, drawn out suffocation. Technically an elemental spell because of its kinship with air...but...

"Severus!"

Snape's water spell had splashed harmlessly to the ground - and the Potions Master now lay on the floor, gasping for breath. Dumbledore looked from the figure on the floor, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who stood, swaying slightly, at the other side of the arena. He ran first to Snape, casting a quick "Efflum" spell, counteracting the Asphyxio curse, waited until Snape's breathing regulated, then turned to march towards Anders.  


"What do you think you are doing?" Dumbledore thundered. "Are you a total idiot, or..."

He broke off, staring into Anders' face. This stranger with the wicked expression was not his great nephew. This lunatic, who was raising his wand and about to cast another spell on Snape was clearly deranged. 

"Expelliarmus!" roared Snape from behind him. Anders' wand flew from his hand and Snape caught it deftly. He strode up to the duo and snarled, "What is going on here, Headmaster?" Anders swayed unsteadily from side to side, seemingly in some sort of trance.

The students around the arena were captured totally by this turn of events.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, when something happened that caught both his and Snape's attention. The crystal pendant that Anders wore around his neck, suddenly burst with a bright flash of light - and apparently heat, because the young Professor began screaming in pain and tried to pull the charm from his throat. This was an exercise in futility: it was magically sealed.

"Anders!" Dumbledore started forward as the young man sank to his knees, whimpering in pain and agony. Snape restrained him. 

"Let it run its course, Albus," he said, softly. "You cannot stop it."

Finally, Anders ceased his whimpering and pitched forward, headfirst, into the grass, unconscious from the ordeal he'd just undergone, from exhaustion, and, through his own stupidity, dehydration.

The pendant around his neck was now a strange hue of smoky quartz.

Anders Grimalkin had lost the first of his three lives.

**(c) S Watkins, 2001**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	8. Manipulation

Shadow of a Doubt - Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [][1]Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Seven: Manipulation**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**~ ~ ~**

Professor McGonagall had immediately begun herding the students back into the castle the moment that Professor Snape had begun to suffocate. Several of the Slytherins hung back and cheered loudly when Professor Grimalkin collapsed.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were horrified by the turn of events they had just witnessed. Professor Grimalkin's temper had driven him to do an unspeakable thing - which had ended in him taking one step towards the thing he feared the most, returning to Azkaban.

"Professor McGonagall?" whispered Hermione, running to catch up with her Head of House. "Is Professor Snape going to be alright?"

"Yes, Hermione," said McGonagall, a tight, thin-lipped expression on her face. "He will be fine. The Headmaster will intervene, he has to. It would seem that Professor Grimalkin cast Desino Munimentum - a cease protection spell on Professor Snape. As the Protection Charm was part of the conditions of the Duel, Professor Dumbledore is no longer prohibited from interrupting."

"Duelling is complicated, isn't it?" Harry whispered to Ron, who nodded mutely. Ron's face was almost as pale as Professor Grimalkin's had been just before he had cast that suffocation spell. 

The students were sent to their various classes, except for those who were due to take Defence Against the Dark Arts or Potions, and life ostensibly returned to normal. Those seated nearest the windows that faced out onto the lawns, however, strained to see what was happening.

"We must get him to the Hospital Wing," said Dumbledore, looking at the prone figure lying on the ground. Conjuring a stretcher, he magically raised Anders from the grass and dropped him gently on the hovering stretcher, which sped away towards the Hospital Wing. "Come, Severus."

"With respect, Headmaster," said Snape, "I must once again ask you to reconsider the logic of employing Grimalkin at this school. What just happened there..."

"You know the plan, Severus," snapped Dumbledore, uncharacteristically shaken. "Just go with it. If we are ever going to prove his innocence, then we expected this sort of thing."

"Headmaster..." Snape looked at the angry expression on Dumbledore's face and let it go. It was not worth discussing at this stage. Leave it for a while and then broach the subject of Grimalkin's unsuitability. Snape accompanied Dumbledore as far as the Entrance Hall, where the Headmaster peeled off towards the Hospital Wing.

The stretcher bearing Anders had already arrived in the Hospital Wing, much to Madam Pomfrey's surprise. She had immediately got into action, transferring him gently from the stretcher to a bed. As Dumbledore walked through the doors, she questioned him immediately.  
  
"What happened? Is it his pneumonia?" She had been expecting to see the young Professor in the Hospital Wing at some time - she had pored over his medical records with extreme unease. The boy had come close to death whilst he had been in Azkaban, defying, at overwhelming odds the illness that had threatened to claim him.

"No, Poppy. He and Severus had a Duel."

"A Duel? Headmaster, what were you thinking, allowing something like that to go ahead?" She checked Anders over, noticing the burn at his throat. "What happened here?"

"His pendant," said Dumbledore, solemnly. Madam Pomfrey started and stared at him. She knew the nature of the monitor charm and the hands that were deftly checking the young teacher immediately drew back. "You mean he cast a Dark Arts spell?"

"Treat him, Poppy. There will be an explanation for this."

"Headmaster, I really don't think I..."

"TREAT him, Poppy."

His tone invited no argument. Madam Pomfrey froze in her complaining and, wordlessly, turned back to her patient. "He does not seem to be deeply unconscious," she reported. "His breathing is regular, his temperature is fine...his colour is bad, though."

Even as she spoke, the young man began to stir on the bed, and once again, she drew back. Dumbledore put a restraining hand on her. "He will not hurt you, Poppy. You have my word on that."

"Headmaster?" Anders' voice was a croak, and Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey turned to look at him. The nurse glanced at Dumbledore and immediately went to his side.

"Professor, how do you feel?"

"I'm thirsty," he said, miserably. "So thirsty..."

"He was drinking a lot of alcohol at the Feast last night," said Dumbledore, also moving forward to look carefully at the boy. "He is probably dehydrated. I should have considered that possibility. Anders, you are a fool. A careless fool!"

"Headmaster!" Madam Pomfrey was shocked at Professor Dumbledore's callous tone, conveniently forgetting that she herself had just been about to refuse to treat him. "Please show a little consideration!" But Anders had dropped his head.

"What happened?" asked the young Welshman, unhappily. "I don't remember anything after that last air spell." He accepted the large glass of water that Madam Pomfrey had conjured for him, and downed it gratefully.  
  
"What happened was that you almost killed Professor Snape!" Dumbledore was full of relief that Anders was alright, and it made his tone abrupt and angry. Anders looked up at him in shock. 

"I can't have done!"

"Asphyxio? Anders, you tried to suffocate him! Where were your brains, boy? In your ego?" Dumbledore reached across and pulled the pendant, dragging the bemused young Professor up with him. "You have used a life, Anders. What was going through your head?"

"I..." Anders looked down.

The smoky quartz pendant in Dumbledore's hand glinted in the light of the infirmary. Anders looked at first it, and then the Headmaster in abject horror.

"No, that's not right, I don't...I didn't...I would never..." His mouth opened and closed a few times, then, quite startlingly, his face crumpled and he began to sob. Dumbledore glanced at Madam Pomfrey and she nodded, moving away to give them some privacy. Dumbledore let go of Anders' pendant and sat down on the bed.

"I know you didn't, Anders," he said, and the harshness had gone from his tone. "I believe - I very sincerely believe - that something is making you act in ways that are alien to your nature." He put a comforting hand on the sobbing young man's shoulder. "After what happened out there this afternoon, I believe that even more." 

* * *

It was, by now, late November and things had - more or less - returned to normal. Grimalkin had been released from the Hospital Wing within a few days and had returned, to many people's surprise, to teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts with renewed vigour. 

"Headmaster, we must talk."

"Not now, Severus."

"Then WHEN, Headmaster? We must discuss what we are going to do about Grimalkin!" Snape seemed particularly irate about the situation, but Dumbledore brushed it off.

"I have told you, Severus. It is in hand." Dumbledore peered down his nose at the Potions Master and sighed heavily. "When will you ever learn to trust me?"

"I trust you, Headmaster," spat Snape. "It's HIM. I don't trust him further than I could comfortably throw him."

"He will not act again so soon. I think we have time to work on the next stage of the plan. Do you want to see this wrong put right, Severus, or do you not?"

There was a long, painful silence, during which Snape's black eyes glittered dangerously. He looked as though he wanted to storm out of the Headmaster's office, but his shoulders slumped, and he shook his head in defeat. "Yes, Headmaster."

* * *

The Quidditch season had started with a bang for the Gryffindor team. Their first match, versus Ravenclaw had resulted in Harry catching the Snitch in a record two minutes ten seconds, and a very dissatisfied crowd who had been expecting a much longer game. The Gryffindor team did not care, however, and had returned to their thrice-weekly training sessions with keen enthusiasm.

It was not a surprise to Harry to see the lone, robed figure standing mournfully at the side of the Quidditch pitch on a cold, dank evening, silhouetted against what was left of the daylight, a cigarette hanging from his fingers, a look of abject misery on his face. Professor Grimalkin.

Bringing the Firebolt in to land beside the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry dismounted. "Sir?"

"Sorry, Harry," he said, gazing almost reverentially at the Firebolt. "I...miss Quidditch, that's all. This is as close as I can get to playing now." In the chill of the night, his words formed a mist that hung in the air before him. He looked better than he had done for a while, Harry noticed. There was even a faint touch of colour in his cheeks. And there was an expression of...

Something in the young Professor's face touched Harry. It was the look of a man who had seen the one thing he could truly use as an escape ripped away from him. Harry thrust the Firebolt towards the Professor. "Here. Take it for a spin."

Horrified, Grimalkin shook his head violently. "I...can't."

"It's alright. I don't mind."

"No, you don't understand. I...I'm not allowed. I've been banned."

"Banned?" Harry was horror stricken. "Banned from flying?"

"Yes." Professor Grimalkin took another long pull on his cigarette and sighed. "For five years."

"That's...really harsh."

"I'd have preferred the Dementor's Kiss." Grimalkin flashed Harry one of his rare, shy smiles to show he was joking. Well. Semi-joking, at best. Harry shook his head. 

"Are you monitored for that like you are for...uh..." He gestured vaguely at Grimalkin's pendant. The young Professor blushed furiously and tucked the crystal away down the front of his robes. He shook his head in the negative and Harry grinned wickedly.

"Meet me out here after midnight and you can take the Firebolt for a spin."

There is a saying that like attracts like - and in the case of Harry Potter and Anders Grimalkin, that saying was more than appropriate - it was deadly accurate. Both thrust into the public eye unwillingly, both filled with an almost insatiable need to fly, both excellent Seekers...and both with an underlying need to bend rules - although Anders Grimalkin was a lot more cautious.

The Professor stared lovingly at the Firebolt, then moved his gaze to Harry. It was clear that he was struggling with his conscience. Finally, his bright blue eyes filled with something akin to mischief.

"You got a date, Harry."

He spun on his heel and walked off into the night. Harry grinned after him. He LIKED the young Professor - there was something so inherently...innocent about him. He didn't believe for one moment that Anders Grimalkin had intended to hurt Snape that day on the lawns. It had been a flash of temper, nothing more, nothing less. Isn't that what Dumbledore had patiently explained to the breathlessly excited student body the following morning at breakfast?

It did explain something to Harry. Ever since meeting Grimalkin, he'd wondered how on earth someone so meek and mild could ever have been put into Slytherin House. It was the temper, no doubt. The Sorting Hat had been able to detect just how vicious Grimalkin could be and had Sorted him accordingly.

Harry watched him disappear into the fading light of the day and grinned to himself. It wasn't all generosity on his part - he'd like to learn from Grimalkin. Although Harry had never seen the young man play, he'd got a reputation as one of the most impressive fliers who'd ever graced a Quidditch field. He looked forward to seeing if it was true.

* * *

Hermione and Ron were in the Gryffindor common room when Harry returned, his Firebolt tucked under his arm and a faint, mischievous grin on his faint. Hermione raised her eyebrows. 

"What have you got planned now, Harry?"

"Nothing," replied Harry, plopping down into a squashy chair and grinning broadly at them. "Just a little private tuition with Professor Grimalkin, that's all."

"What, like when you studied the Patronus charm with Lupin?" said Hermione, interested in the idea of extra learning. Harry shook his head, but said nothing. "Well, what then? Come on Harry, do tell us."

Ron nodded and prodded Harry in the ribs with his foot. "Don't come over all mysterious on us, it's like talking to Professor Trelawny on a particularly bad day." 

Harry leaned forward and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Grimalkin's coming out to take my Firebolt for a spin. I'm hoping I can convince him to give me one or two...pointers."  
  
Hermione put a hand over her mouth. "Harry, you can't do that. He's been banned from flying! If you get caught, you'll both be in serious trouble!"

"We won't get caught," said Harry, confidently. "I'll be extra-careful. I was going to give him the Invisibility Cloak to fly with, then, if anyone DOES come out, I can just say I was testing the Quidditch field conditions for tomorrow's practise."

"When are you planning on doing this?" asked Hermione, a strange air of sternness about her. Harry reluctantly told her.

"Yes, Harry, that'll work well," she said, a little derisively. "Testing conditions at midnight. Everyone will think you've gone mad." She began to gather her books together. "You just be careful," she said, glaring at Ron and Harry. "Professor Grimalkin has been through enough already without you adding to his troubles."

As she walked away, Ron snorted. "She fancies him rotten. Don't know why she won't just admit it."

Harry watched her go. "I don't think it's that at all," he said, softly. "We know Hermione's like Dumbledore - she's a soft touch for charity cases and wounded animals - and I think Grimalkin neatly slots into one...if not both of those categories."

Ron's expression softened, and a look of fondness came over his face, the sort of expression that, if Harry had pressed him about it, Ron would most certainly have denied it had ever been there. Harry smiled to himself. 

Sensing that Ron would become embarrassed if he talked about Hermione much more, Harry the conversation towards their discovery about Grimalkin and his shadow. Ron's initial reaction that Grimalkin must be a vampire had ebbed somewhat with the passage of time. In their spare time - which wasn't much, these days, with their mock OWLs approaching - they had all visited the library and read many books on the Dark Arts. Hermione had managed to obtain Professor Flitwick's absent-minded signature on the Restricted Section permission form, and they had pored over many huge tomes.

There was a lot of information about people and their shadows, and the one thing that had caught Harry's eye had been the chapter in 'How To Steal Friends and Manipulate People' where it discussed an ancient Dark Arts charm, now long forbidden, where a powerful wizard could 'capture' someone's shadow and use it in the same way other witches and wizards used familiars. The effect this would have on the person whose shadow was missing was long-term madness. The writer of that particular volume clearly sincerely subscribed to the school of thought that a shadow was part of a man's soul.

They talked for a while longer, and then both of them attempted, somewhat half-heartedly, to do some revision. By eleven o' clock, the common room was almost empty, apart from a few struggling fifth years like themselves, trying to cram as much information into their heads as was humanly possible.

Upstairs, in the girl's dormitory, Hermione was confiding in Lavender Brown.

"Why don't you talk to him about it, Hermione?"

"I couldn't," said Hermione, a furious blush reaching her cheeks. "I can't just go up to him and tell him I think he's nice and will he come to the Yule Ball with me."

"Ron's not THAT scary, is he? Besides, you've been friends since the first year."

"That's the point, isn't it? Friends. Maybe that's all he wants. I don't know how boy's minds work, Lavender. I'm new to this." She sighed. "Who are you going to the Yule Ball with?"

"Well," said Lavender, also reddening. "David Donnelly - the Hufflepuff boy with that lovely Irish accent? He has been dropping some fairly heavy hints."

Hermione smiled, a little sadly. "I wish Ron would drop some sort of hint that he likes me. How do I get him to open up, Lavender?"

Lavender shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "I wish I knew the answer to that one, Hermione. It's at times like this that I wish I had an older brother to confide in instead of three sisters." She got up and went back over to her own bed, leaving Hermione deep in thought.

* * *

Anders Grimalkin strolled nonchalantly out onto the Quidditch field and looked around. Harry was nowhere to be seen. He let out a little noise of disappointment and checked his watch. 12.05. 

"Professor!"

Anders nearly jumped out of his skin as the voice came from the darkness. He stared around wildly, then stared in disbelief as Harry emerged from under the veil of the Invisibility Cloak.

"Harry? Where did you..."

"Don't ask about it, Sir. I thought you could use it, then you could fly on the broom without anyone seeing you." He was startled to see tears form in the young Professor's eyes, and carried on hurriedly lest the man start to cry. "Here." 

He handed the Firebolt to Grimalkin, along with the Invisibility Cloak, but Anders was staring lovingly at the broom. "I had one of these," he said, wistfully. "Got snapped, of course, after the accident." He turned it every which way, looking at every inch of it.

"Here." Harry proffered the Cloak again, but Anders shook his head. "No. If I'm going to do this, and I get caught, I don't want YOU getting into trouble as well. You put the Cloak on, then, if anyone comes, you won't be seen." He put up a hand to stop Harry's protests. "Trust me. All the other Professors are preparing the mock OWLs. They won't notice me gone."

Slowly, Anders mounted the broom. Almost immediately he closed his eyes. "This feels...so good," he whispered as the Firebolt bobbed gently beneath him. "I'd almost forgotten..." He opened his eyes wide and grinned at Harry, an expression that made his face look years younger. "Well, here goes nothing."

He kicked off into the air and flew Harry's broom around the Quidditch field with such an air of consummate ease and skill that Harry, for a moment, felt jealous of the Professor's talent. That envy soon turned to admiration, however, as Grimalkin swooped, and rolled and dived, a look of pure ecstasy on his face.

Finally, he glided back down to earth and hopped off the broom.

"Thank you, Harry," he said, a catch in his voice. "I have missed that."

"Sir...would you give me some pointers? Some of those dives you did...were so spectacular."

"Harry, you're skilled enough. I'm sure I couldn't teach you anything you don't already know." He was genuinely modest, but Harry shook his head.

"You could. Definitely. You could give me lessons - pointers, perhaps, you wouldn't have to get on the broom, so we could do it during the day...and maybe we can have a few more midnight sessions..." It was tantamount to bribery, but Harry hoped that Grimalkin would see it as a highly generous offer on his part.

He did. A date for their first practise was agreed, and a happy, jaunty bounce in his walk that had not been there before, Grimalkin walked away.

The title of that book came, unbidden, into Harry's mind. 'How to Steal Friends and Manipulate People', and a small wave of guilt washed over him.  
  


**(c) S Watkins, 2001**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	9. Love, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happine...

Shadow of a Doubt - Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [][1]Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Eight: Love, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**~ ~ ~**

November disappeared quietly into the first snowfall of December, and the spirit of Christmas began to permeate the halls of Hogwarts. The Yule Ball, scheduled for the night before most students returned home for the Christmas holidays was fast approaching, and Hermione had still not plucked up the courage to speak to Ron.

But she HAD plucked up the courage to do something else.

After a particularly interesting Defence Against the Dark Arts mock examination in which Professor Grimalkin had given each of them a tiny fire demon to practise their element spells on, Hermione held back. The young Professor was busying himself with returning the tiny demons to their box when she approached him.

"Professor? Could I...er...speak to you for a moment?"

He looked up and smiled brightly at her. She felt her heart skip a beat. This would be so much easier if he wasn't so handsome! Doggedly, she continued.

"I have a problem of a...um...personal nature. I wondered if you could...er...give me some advice from a male point of view?"

His eyebrows lifted, then he smiled again. "This wouldn't happen to be about a certain Mr Weasley would it?"

"No!" she exclaimed, then smiled herself. "How did you know?"

"I'm not stupid, Hermione," he said, stuffing the last demon into the box and sealing it with a binding spell. "I have eyes and I can recognise certain expressions. What's the problem?"

"Well..." She sat down at one of the desks and put her head in her hands. "I like Ron a lot...and we've always been really good friends. But..."

He sat down opposite her. "But you want to be more than friends?"

He was very perceptive, she thought. Lavender had been right. It WOULD be nice to have an older brother, and Professor Grimalkin, young as he was, fit that role rather nicely. Look at him - the way in which he was looking at her with such heartfelt concern, the way in which his bright blue eyes showed both sympathy and understanding...she was impulsively driven to ask him a question.

"Do YOU have a girlfriend, Professor?"

He was startled by the question.

"No," he said, finally. "Not any more, anyway. I...was seeing a girl before...before, you know...That Place." He waved his hand dismissively. "But I don't think it would ever have gone anywhere. I don't think I was...quite in her league."

That was the understatement of the year. Charis had been a sophisticated, cultured beauty who found Anders' small-town ways next to impossible to deal with at times, and who had demonstrated little or no patience with his innocent ignorance.  
  
"I'm sorry," said Hermione, blushing. "I don't mean to pry. It's just...you sound so knowledgeable about these things...I just assumed..."

"No, Charis dropped me from a great height the second I was arrested," he said, a little savagely. "I HAD hoped she might stick by me, but two or three weeks in Azk...in That Place...had me no longer caring about what she thought." He closed in eyes in sudden, remembered pain and Hermione felt guilty for prodding at his sensitive spot. She turned the subject back to her and Ron.

"I want to ask Ron to the Yule Ball, but don't know how."

He smiled, starting to gather up his books. "Just ask, Hermione - that's all you have do." He leaned forward, as if letting her into a great secret. "Let me tell you something about us males. Flatter our egos, and we're putty in your hands. You're a nice girl, Hermione, a smart, clever girl - I think Ron would be delighted to accompany you to the Yule Ball. But he won't ask you. He's too proud."

She had blushed furiously at his compliments and gave him a shy smile. "What if he says no?"

"Then you ask someone else. Try it. Be tough. You have absolutely nothing to lose."

Inwardly he was smarting. Who was he to give advice on matters of the heart? He'd not exactly been successful in that arena. As Hermione left, he reflected on what had been the only girlfriend he'd ever had. Charis Powell, a failed witch, had latched onto him whilst he had been playing Seeker for the Cardiff Chargers, and he had been totally fascinated by the blonde bombshell who seemed devoted to him.

His Quidditch career had been blossoming, and took up much of his time. He found himself with money for the first time in his life, and spent it by buying Charis extravagant gifts, which she accepted ungraciously, looking at them with bored disinterest before throwing them over her shoulder. It hurt Anders more than he could express to see her unhappy, and he would immediately offer to buy her bigger, better and more expensive if it would make her smile.

But still she seemed unhappy.

After he had been arrested, but was still in the hospital recovering from his broken ribs, she had come to visit him. He'd gazed up at her cold, impassive face, hoping that she would say she'd come to stand by him, but she had something much less pleasant to say to him.

After she had left, he had cried non stop for a day and a half. 

And he had never opened his heart to anyone else again.

Viciously, he berated himself for lingering on what was past. Charis had never loved him the way he'd loved her, that much was obvious. She'd just been out for whatever she could leech from him. He envied Hermione and Ron. Two young people, whose only real issue was that they were awkward around one another. He had no doubt things would work out for them.  
  
Sighing heavily, Anders packed up his books and left the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Professor."

He turned at the familiar drawling voice. Draco Malfoy, who had more or less seemingly given up on attempted verbal bullying of the young Professor, stood in the corridor, flanked by his usual henchmen.

"What is it, Mr Malfoy?" said Anders, his voice almost bored.

"What were you doing in there with Granger? She came out looking extremely happy, Professor. You ought to be careful. You wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea about you, now, would you?"

Anders stared at him in utter disbelief, but Malfoy hadn't finished.

"Of course, if you were to, say, make sure that our marks in the Defence Against the Dark Arts examinations were supremely high...then I'm sure no rumours would ever start."

The young Professor's eyes narrowed.

"Blackmail, Malfoy?"

"Sir! What a terrible thing to accuse me of!" There was something so malevolent, bordering on evil in Malfoy's eyes, that Anders shuddered involuntarily. "Just think about it, that's all I'm saying."

With a motion to Crabbe and Goyle, he slunk off down the corridor, leaving Anders standing, books in his arms, staring after him, a look of guilt, worry and anger mixed on his face.

* * *

"Ron?"

Ron had been hard to track down. Hermione had finally found him, in of all places, the library, where he was hard at work, revising for an Astronomy exam that he was due to take that night. He looked up as she approached his table and grinned at her. It was unusual for Ron to be without Harry - who was out beating his Quidditch team into shape, and Hermione decided to seize the moment as Professor Grimalkin had suggested.

She slid into the seat next to him and looked at the books. "You...er...enjoy Astronomy, don't you?"

"Yes," said Ron, watching her closely. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. He had been building up courage for weeks now to ask Hermione to the Yule Ball. He'd asked Harry if he could test the water and find out whether she would be interested, and now she'd come to tell him, 'thanks but no thanks'.

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably.

"I find it...it's always cold standing on top of the tower at midnight. I prefer Arithmancy. It's warmer."

"Yes," said Ron, almost miserably. Why wouldn't she just get it over with?

At that moment, the library door swung open, and Professor Grimalkin wandered in and went up to the desk to speak with Madam Pince, who seemed rather flustered to be in the company of the handsome young Professor, and who was patting at her bun in a rather flattered way.

Ron and Hermione watched, both twisting pieces of paper between their hands.

Then, at the same time, they both blurted out, "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"You?"

"Me?"

"You asked me?"

"I asked you?"

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

Professor Grimalkin saw their mutual glee from the corner of his eye and smiled in a slightly bitter, twisted sort of way. Good luck to them. He wished them more luck than he had ever known. He took the book that Madam Pince returned with and slunk out of the library.

* * *

Harry stared at the book Grimalkin handed him. "Basic Broomstick - A Guide for the Beginner." He looked up, his eyebrows raised. "With due respect, Sir, I'm not exactly a beginner."

"No, Harry, you're not. But when someone flies as well as you do, it becomes all too easy to forget the basics of broomstick flying. So study that book, and you'll be surprised just how you can improve simply through practising the simple stuff. Trust me."

They were standing out in the snow, Grimalkin shivering slightly through his thin, worn robes, and Harry had just landed after showing what he was capable of. He'd been full of himself, convinced that Grimalkin would say what a good flier he was, but he'd been quite literally brought down to earth with a bump.

  
He took the book, almost in embarrassment. But he understood the logic of what the young Professor was saying. It was the same principle that most of the Professors applied to all branches of magic. Remember the simple things and the rest will follow naturally.

Harry flipped through the book and told himself that if it would make him into the best Seeker ever, then it had to be worth doing. A cough came from the Professor and he glanced across. Grimalkin did not look too well.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Harry. Just a little...cold, I guess." He pulled his robes around him more tightly, for what little good that did. "Now why not try that dive again?" He pulled a few golf balls from his robe pockets. "Let's practise Snitch catching." He smiled and coughed again. Harry looked at him in concern again, but mounted the broomstick. Grimalkin threw golf balls into the air, and Harry dived to catch them, often just missing crashing into the ground.

For his part, every time Harry came plummeting towards the ground, Grimalkin's heart leaped into his mouth. The scene was so reminiscent of the moment he and Peterssen had come plunging down from the skies during that Quidditch match. 

~Didn't even get that right, boy,~

"Sorry?" Anders glanced up at Harry. "Did you say something?"

"No, Sir," replied Harry, looking at the young Professor in confusion.

"I thought I heard you...no matter. That'll do for today. It's getting a bit too cold out here now. Are you going home for the Christmas holidays?"

"No," replied Harry, grimly. "The Dursleys - my aunt, uncle and cousin, who I live with, prefer me to stay here during Christmas. Don't like to have me around."

Anders nodded, sympathetically. He knew THAT feeling as well. He smiled. "Well, maybe we can fit in another couple of lessons between now and the new term. You have great potential, Harry."

Harry beamed broadly at the shivering young Professor, then his smile faded. "Sir? Are you SURE you're alright?" There was a strange, distant expression on the man's face, and he turned away and walked off without another word to Harry.

"Suit yourself," muttered Harry, picking up his Firebolt and heading back into the school.

He headed for the Gryffindor Common room, more than a little surprised by the Professor's odd behaviour, but put it to the back of his mind as he headed through the Fat Lady's portrait and straight up the stairs to his dorm. He stashed the Firebolt under his bed and then, after an embarrassed pause, put the 'Basic Broomstick' Guide under his pillow where it was not on display to everyone else. Fancy Professor Grimalkin giving him that book.

"Hey, Harry," said Ron, who had entered the dormitory at that moment. His red-haired friend looked suspiciously pleased with himself, like a dragon who'd got the last of the charcoal. Ron threw himself down on the edge of Harry's bed and sighed contentedly. "I did it," he said, triumphantly. "I asked Hermione to the Ball, and she said 'yes'."

Harry grinned. "Finally!"

Ron stared at him. "What's that meant to mean?"

"You two should have got together YEARS ago," he said. "I've never seen such a perfect match since Dudley met Pansy Parkinson at King's Cross last year!"

Ron let out a snort of laughter. "The expression on your Uncle Vernon's face when he realised that his Darling little Dudders was going all pie-eyed over a witch was priceless."

They laughed together, enjoying the memory. Harry's cousin had not slimmed down with the advance of the years, indeed, if anything, he was more rotund now than he had ever been in his life. Part of this was down to Aunt Petunia: although she had genuinely tried to stick to Dudley's diet sheet, she had given in to Dudley's well-rehearsed look of quiet starvation by slipping him the occasional pork pie or packet of bourbon creams.

* * *

And Anders Grimalkin?

Harry's reference to not being wanted around by his relatives had released another memory that had been locked up in the young Professor's confused mind. He walked around in something of a daze, ignoring the chill of the snowflakes that settled in his hair, on his nose, on his robes, and finally stopped walking when he was clear of the castle.

Since the incident with Snape, his lost memories had been returning one at a time - and most of them were memories he fervently wished he had simply never regained.

Like this one.

The Quidditch trials had gone excellently, he had felt, remembering it like it was just yesterday, and not five years ago. He'd performed the standard dives and Snitch catches with more than impressive effect, and one of the judges had even clapped loudly, to the chagrin of the others. They would contact him in two days, they said, but even he could tell from the smile on their faces that he was in. His career was going to take off - quite literally. 

Thus it was, he entered his family home in Ebbw Vale enthusiastic and eager. He bounced happily into the kitchen, to find his father sitting, glaring at the noise his son had made. All the good intentions of resolving his differences with his father drained away as Anders met the cold stare of the dirty, unshaven, gaunt man in front of him.

"You're back, then."

"Yes, Da."

"When will you be leaving?" The older Grimalkin turned his attention to his newspaper, ignoring Anders completely. Suddenly angry, Anders turned on his heel and stormed upstairs to his room. He slammed the door shut and threw himself moodily down onto his bed. Only a few short hours ago, he had been on a high like he had never known. And with less than ten words, his father had taken the wind completely out of his sails.

He lay on the bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The house was filthy, as if Dafydd hadn't cleaned in weeks, and the smell of stale beer was offensive to the young man's nose. With a sigh, he rolled over and stared at the photograph of his mother next to the bed. "Mam...I don't know what to do for the best any more."

The photograph, unlike the wizarding ones he had gotten used to, did not respond in any way, but there was still something unusually calming in the expression of the pretty blonde in the picture. Anders loved that photograph. He had taken it the summer holidays before she had died, and there was something sad and unhappy in her face that touched him deeply.

Staring at her image calmed him down, and he began to plot out his future. He had to stay here for a least a couple of days until he heard from the Cardiff Chargers. If he got on the team...then he could move out. He'd seen the notice board in the dressing rooms. There were plenty of other young Quidditch players looking for room mates. At least he'd be among his own kind. He could check in on his father from time to time...everything would be fine.

He got back up and went downstairs. Dafydd hadn't moved an inch and barely glanced up as Anders entered the kitchen and began tidying.

"Well?" 

"I'll leave day after tomorrow, Da. But in the meantime, let me do something to help." He flicked his wand out and waved it. Immediately, the kitchen began to take care of cleaning itself. Dafydd muttered something under his breath.

"What was that, Da? I didn't hear you."

"Showing off in front of me again, are you, boy? Because you can do all this fancy wizard stuff and I can't, is it?"

"No, Da, I..."

Dafydd had got to his feet. He was taller than Anders by at least two inches, and Anders was 6'4". He was skinny, but powerful across the shoulders, and had a punch that Anders had been on the receiving end of too many times. "I want you out of this house, do you hear me? You're a stain on my good name. The lies I've had to tell about you to people." His breath stank of beer, and Anders knew he should get out of the way now, but something in him brought his utter defiance to the fore.

"Da, I only need two more days, then I'm gone. Two days, do you hear me?" His own voice was raising in anger and he clenched his hands into fists of his own.

"I want you out and I want you out NOW!" Dafydd roared, taking a step towards Anders who considered casting a freeze spell on the man, but he had made it his policy never, ever to use his magic against Muggles. To help them, yes. But against them...? Never. He put the wand down on the table. 

"There. Now it's just you and me and no magic. You want to have this discussion in a civilised manner, or are you going to talk with your fists as usual?"

Dafydd's face, already purple with rage, darkened even more at his words. "I'll teach you some respect, you little..." He raised one fist, but instead of ducking, or moving away as he'd always done in the past, Anders stood his ground. This seemed to confused Dafydd.

"I'm not a little kid any more, Da. I'm eighteen years old now. Not a student, not a child. I'm a man."

Something flashed across Dafydd's face at Anders' words, and he smirked knowingly. "You're a brat. You can stay for two days. But no more." His fists loosened and he patted Anders' cheek with a little more strength than was necessary. "And get the dinner on, I'm that hungry."

"Yes, Da," said Anders, turning away from his father, angry, hurt and confused. He hated the man so much, but loved him because it was his father. He would never, ever resolve that paradox.

Not ever.

And then had come the news - just before he had entered Azkaban - that his father had gone missing whilst abroad, presumed dead in an air crash. And that wound with his father had never been healed, and it never would be healed.

Sighing heavily, realising for the first time just how cold he was, the young Professor walked slowly and unhappily back to the castle.  


  


**(c) S Watkins, 2001**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	10. Festive Spirit

FanFiction.Net

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [][1]Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Nine: Festive Spirit**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**~ ~ ~**

The Yule Ball was, as indeed it always was, a great hit with both students and teachers - well, some of the teachers, anyway. 

Dumbledore had laughed himself almost the other side of his face when he had caught sight of the young Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, who had finally succumbed to the wheedling pleas of the sixth and seventh year girls and braved a trip down to the festively decorated Great Hall. He was currently lost somewhere in a sea of females, all of whom were vying for the first dance of the evening with the handsome young man. Every now and again he would shoot a glance of desperation at Dumbledore, who shrugged and grinned at him. 

He surprised everyone in the hall with his choice of dance partner for the first dance of the evening, but none more than Hermione Granger who blushed furiously as the Professor strode over and grabbed her hand, pulling her onto the dance floor, much to the temporary annoyance of Ron, whose resistance to the idea did not last long. He had been dreading the whole dancing thing anyway. Two left feet, his mum said, and she was not far wrong. 

Anders Grimalkin, on the other hand - or indeed, the other foot - was an excellent dancer, moving Hermione lightly around the floor with a sinuous, twisting grace that made her feel lighter than a feather. He flattered her extravagantly and she blushed, wondering just what had come over the Professor. But all that had come over him was a sense of holiday spirit, and the instruction from his Great Uncle to stop worrying for just one night of the year and let his hair down. 

When he finally returned Hermione to Ron's side, she was sweating lightly, but very happy. Professor Grimalkin kissed her hand gently in a quaint, old-fashioned sort of way that caused the sixth and seventh year girls to sigh audibly as he moved to be among them and find another dance partner. 

"You two looked good out there," said Ron, his arm draped very lightly, but not at all possessively across Hermione's shoulder. "You're a good dancer, Hermione." 

"I'm not," she said. "It's him. He made me look good. He's so light on his feet." She took a huge gulp of chilled pumpkin juice and smiled at Harry, who was on the dance floor with his date for the evening, Lavender Brown. Compared to the young Professor, now dancing with a pretty red-headed seventh year who looked dangerously near to tears of joy, Harry looked awkward and clumsy, but he was enjoying himself. That was the main thing. 

She was aware that Ron was looking rather intently at her and she blushed again. "What?" she said. "Is my hair coming down?" She had her thick brown hair piled atop her head, caught up by sparkling barettes, and the curls fell down her back. 

"No," said Ron, simply and honestly. "I was just thinking how nice you looked, that's all." 

It was probably the best compliment she had ever received and for once in her life, she was completely speechless. 

* * * 

Anders was actually enjoying himself. It had been so long since he had done so, he found himself almost feeling guilty about it. The guilt did not last long, and he barely had time to sit down and relax, so popular was he on the dance floor. 

Charis had taught him to dance, society animal that she was, and he had always enjoyed the activity. He'd managed to get out of nearly all the balls whilst he'd been at school, but now he was an adult, he was keen to show off his skill. 

The seventh year girl with whom he was currently dancing was also one of his best students, a serious, dark-haired Ravenclaw girl called Melissa McRobert, who had been one of the few girls who had reasoned that the best way to get Professor Grimalkin to dance was not to bother him, but then, Melissa tried not to bother anyone. She was a quiet, studious girl, and he found himself unmistakably drawn to her. 

He was also acutely aware of his position as a teacher and how it could look to form a relationship with a student. A student who was close to nineteen, and therefore only four years his junior, but a student, nonetheless. Not that he would ever behave improperly towards a young lady, that was not Anders Grimalkin's nature, but he was aware of the implications for his Great Uncle. 

Melissa, for her part, remembered Anders Grimalkin. He had been a seventh year when she had been in the third and had just started noticing boys. He'd been a Slytherin, though, and the Ravenclaw/Slytherin rivalry had reached a peak at the time. She still remembered shooting the awkward, tall young man shy, hopeful looks at every opportunity, but he had perpetually seemed lost in his own world. And now, four years later, her he was, dancing with her. 

And he was no less gorgeous now than he had been then. 

Melissa was not generally a girl who judged others on their looks, but was mesmerised by Anders Grimalkin. In particular, she found herself looking into his cool, bright blue eyes and wondering how he managed to keep so much hurt locked up. 

When her fingers had reached up to brush a lock of dark hair out of his eyes, he felt as though someone had thrust a cattle prod at him, so electric was the sensation of her touch. Alarm klaxons sounded somewhere in his mind, but for now, he was content to dance with her. 

Finally, he managed to take a seat at the teacher's table. He was pink and happy and his neatly combed ponytail had come loose from its bindings. His dark hair fell down below his shoulders and he felt better and more relaxed than he could remember. He took a sip of juice - having not touched wine since the duel with Snape. 

He looked out at the dancing that was going on out in the Great Hall and his heart lifted. How could he be melancholy and angst filled on such a night? Quite simply, he couldn't. 

* * * 

"Did you SEE the way he and Granger were dancing together?" whispered Pansy Parkinson in Malfoy's ear. "That didn't exactly look innocent to me. You should tell him, Draco. Tell him what you think about that sort of thing."

Draco Malfoy had noticed, of course he had. He was obsessed with trying to find a chink in Grimalkin's armour of stupid self-righteousness, and to bring him crashing down to the reality where he was an ex-convict who had been given this job only out of sympathy. The blackmail approach had proved fruitless, Grimalkin had simply refused to rise to the bait. If anything, all it had served to do was mark Malfoy's card as far as the young Professor was concerned, and he had simply become less open and more guarded with his comments around the Slytherin. His attention became caught by a sudden disturbance on the other side of the Hall. 

"Peeves," he murmured, watching the Poltergeist who was throwing Christmas decorations around and generally having a whale of a time. "Peeves knows something about Grimalkin, I'm sure of it." Generally speaking, Draco had little or nothing to do with any of the Hogwarts ghosts, considering them so far below him that he would not even stoop to pass the time of day.

Peeves, in particular, he found to be next to unbearable, as did most of the usually upright and breathing contingent at Hogwarts. But if Peeves had something on Grimalkin...then Draco Malfoy felt he could alter his normal rule about conversing with the poltergeist. 

Content in the knowledge that he could well be on to something, Draco smiled slyly and led Pansy out to the dance floor, elbowing Potter and Brown out of his way. They looked ridiculous together anyway.

* * * 

As the night drew to a close, Anders found himself dancing once again with Hermione. She looked tired, but content. 

"Thank you, Professor," she murmured into his shoulder. "You were right all along about Ron." 

"I'm glad, Hermione. You two make a nice couple. I'm just sorry that you haven't got yourselves together sooner. Still - you have plenty of time to catch up." 

The enchanted music began swelling to its finale, and Hermione stood on tiptoe and impulsively kissed Anders on the cheek. "Thank you," she said, simply. "Thank you for understanding and listening when I needed a friend." She broke free from his embrace and returned to Ron's waiting arms. 

He watched her walk away and put a hand vaguely to his cheek where she had kissed him. He'd never been called a 'friend' before, and he rather liked the feeling of warmth it gave him. He watched as Ron led Hermione from the Great Hall, along with a large group of the students. There was only a handful of die-hard sixth and seventh years left now, and the teachers who had attended. Anders had already noted Snape's absence from the festivities, and despite not missing him in the slightest was quite disappointed to have been robbed of the opportunity to watch Severus dancing. 

With that semi-happy thought in his head, Anders retired for the night, and had the first full night's sleep he'd managed in a long time. 

* * * 

Malfoy had approached Peeves with a deal. He, Malfoy, would put in a good word for the poltergeist with the Bloody Baron and arrange it so the Baron gave Peeves a little more leeway. In return for this favour, Peeves gleefully revealed to Draco Malfoy the truth about Anders Grimalkin and his missing shadow. 

Rubbing his hands together in satisfaction, Malfoy squirrelled this valuable new knowledge away, ready to bring it out in the open at the time that was guaranteed to cause Grimalkin the most embarrassment, and headed home for the Christmas holidays. He would strike on his return, of that he had little or no doubt. 

Ron and Hermione were both staying for Christmas, much to Harry's mixed pleasure and irritation. Pleasure because he enjoyed spending time with his friends, and irritation because their presence cut into his flying lessons with Professor Grimalkin. 

Harry's initial reservations about the Professor had long since morphed into nothing but respect for the quiet young man. He was an excellent flying teacher, and within two or three weeks of their first private lesson, Harry was aware of the improvement in his own style. The first match of the new year would be against Slytherin, and he planned to use one or two of the rather...unorthodox moves that he'd convinced Professor Grimalkin to teach him. 

Christmas morning dawned bright and crisp, and Harry and Ron opened their presents in the girl's dorm where Hermione was alone. Over the years, the Dursleys had never failed to amaze Harry in their choice of Christmas gift, and this year was no exception. He stared incredulously at the rubber band that fell out of the card that said 'Happy Christmas 1965'. 

"I mean," he said, shaking his head, "why?" 

They looked at the offending article for a while, then Ron began to grin. So did Hermione. Harry tested the elasticity of the rubber band on the end of his thumb. It was warped, and broke immediately. He smiled himself. "Well," he said, "at least there's always the knowledge that one day I will be able to leave the Dursleys." 

Someone else received a Christmas gift that left him baffled. 

Anders Grimalkin had been up since the crack of dawn. He'd never been much of a Christmas person: particularly not since his mother's death. But this year, there was a brightly coloured envelope sitting at his breakfast place. He looked at it curiously, wondering if an owl had delivered it incorrectly, but it had his name on it. 

He slit the envelope open and was mystified when a key fell out. He looked at it, and then felt Dumbledore's eyes on him. He gave his uncle a quizzical look, but the Headmaster just tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. Anders pocketed the key, a sense of something between excitement and trepidation filling him. Another one of his uncle's surprises. 

He found out extremely quickly. The key fit an old shed out in the grounds near Hagrid's hut and when the Headmaster directed him there, he nearly cried. 

Albus Dumbledore had made arrangements to have Anders' beloved motorbike delivered to Hogwarts, and it was an extraordinarily happy young Professor who turned up for Christmas dinner, a smear of oil already on his face, and an expression of sheer bliss. He slid into his seat next to Severus Snape, who wrinkled his nose at the smell of machine oil. 

"Merry Christmas, Professor," beamed Anders, holding a cracker to his colleague. Reluctantly, Snape pulled the other end, and the cracker burst into a million shiny pieces of paper that rained down over them, settling in their hair and on their robes. Anders picked up the novelty hat, that of a pirate, and put it on, adopting the pseudo-pirate accent to go with it. This caused Snape to sneer at him, but Anders did not care. He couldn't imagine how, if at all, things could get better than this. 

He ushered Hermione, Ron and Harry out to see his bike after dinner, and they were politely impressed, but could not see anything except a big, black Muggle machine. The young Professor, still wearing his pirate party hat announced happily that he was going to strip down the bike clean it piece by piece, cog by cog. Hermione found her tongue then. 

"Best not do that inside the castle," she said, carefully. "I don't think the House Elves would share your enthusiasm." 

"I'll speak to them," Anders said. "They'll understand. I mean, I'll clean up after myself and everything." 

Hermione and Harry exchanged dubious glances. They had seen the House Elf war machine at full tilt and seriously doubted that Anders Grimalkin could use his undoubted charm to get them to agree to bringing filthy engine parts into their super-clean castle.

They could not burst his bubble, though, so decided to let things be. 

* * * 

Anders peered cautiously around the door of the Great Hall. He had, in his hand, a bag, containing bits of stripped-down and exceedingly dirty engine parts. He had never quite got around to broaching the subject with the House Elves, and so had resorted to the backup plan. 

Subterfuge. 

Looking around the abandoned Great Hall - it was, after all, close to midnight, he was relieved to note that the coast was apparently clear. He began to tiptoe cautiously across, praying that he didn't step on the ... 

...squeaky floorboard...oh no... 

...there it was. 

He cringed. He'd often contemplated writing a thesis paper on what he referred to as 'tiptoecoustics - the science that explains why, when you're trying to sneak about in the wee small hours, every tiny sound is amplified beyond belief'. 

"Master!" 

A swarm of house elves immediate came out through the kitchen doors and formed a somewhat intimidating and remarkably accusing circle around him. 

He tried to hide the bag, but knew that the oil and grease that covered his hands and face were going to incriminate him, so gave it up as a lost cause. About twenty candles were held up and illuminated the young Professor's grime-streaked face. 

He smiled sheepishly. 

One house elf screamed and fainted dead away. Another stepped forward and poked Anders quite painfully in the ribs. "Oil, master? Do you know how hard oil is to get out of things? What is you doing, trying to works us to death?" 

"I...was just taking this to my room..." he began, feebly. 

Thump! Thump! Thump! 

Three more elves passed out. Anders stared at them guiltily. "Um..." 

"To your ROOM, Master? Just think of the laundry! Think of the stains! No, no, master mustn't take dirty things through Hogwarts. Hogwarts must be clean and tidy at all times!" The elf reached out a hand to take the bag of engine parts. Grimly defiant, Anders clutched onto it as if it were a drifting log in the sea of angry house elves. 

"It's MY bag and it's going with ME!" he said, sternly. "I promise that I'll clean up after myself, you won't have anything to do..." 

"Bag must stays HERE, master," insisted the elf. 

"It's going with me." Hot anger rose in him and he glowered furiously at the House Elf ringleader. 

The Elves stared impassively back at him, and then they attacked. They were all over him like a rash, and despite his advantage of greater height and strength, within seconds, Anders found himself overpowered. In the mass of elves that flocked around him, he was dimly aware of snatches of conversation. 

"Tsk! Robes is filthy!" 

"Oil in hair, master, that's not good!"

He closed his eyes. This was a nightmare. 

When he opened them again, Anders was alone in the Great Hall. Everything had gone. 

Including his robes. 

One small cog clattered noisily onto the ground as he stood up and shivering, he bent down to pick it up. It rolled around in a lazy circle and then before it lay to rest, one of the smallest elves rushed out and grabbed it, turning to stare at Anders accusingly before disappearing into the kitchen again. 

All that was left of the carefully stripped-down bike was the Hessian sack in which he had carried the parts into the castle. He picked it up and used it to cover himself with. The one House Elf who reappeared and made as if to take the sack met with such a stare of cold fury from the young Professor that it wisely decided against the move and disappeared. 

Slinking out of the Great Hall, with nothing but a sack to cover his modesty, his cheeks aflame, Anders made his way upstairs to his bedroom. 

This. Meant. War. 

* * * 

By the end of the Christmas holidays, Harry was definitely seeing an improvement in his flying skills, and was extremely grateful to the young Professor for the time and effort he was putting in. What he didn't realise was that Anders was getting as much pleasure out of teaching Harry as he would have done were it him on the Firebolt. 

The two were spending more and more time in each other's company: since the Yule Ball, Hermione and Ron seemed to be unable to put one another down, which frankly annoyed Harry beyond rational belief. He knew that he was being ridiculously jealous, but he couldn't help it. However, aiming to be positive, he took that emotion, recycled it, and threw it into his flying, which caused Professor Grimalkin to actually applaud some of his dives. 

Skimming across the surface of the Quidditch field, Harry leaped nimbly off the broom. "Want another go?" he said, seeing the longing in the Professor's face. Anders glanced at the castle and back at the broom, chewing his lip. He hadn't taken a ride on the Firebolt since that first night, and had been yearning for the opportunity again. 

"I..." he began, then grinned. "You just try to stop me." 

Harry grinned back and thrust the broom at him. "It's all yours." 

He knew he shouldn't encourage the Professor to break the terms of his release from Azkaban, but the minute risk involved was worth it to see how his perpetually worried expression changed to one of sheer exhilaration and joy when he was flying around the field. 

Anders took a ten-minute flight and cruised to a beautifully controlled halt. "Wonderful broom," he said, dismounting and patting it gently. "You're really lucky, Harry. Where did you get it?"

"My godfather gave it me," replied Harry, proudly. 

"Your godfather?" Anders was surprised at this bit of news, he had thought Harry had no relatives other than the Dursleys he had mentioned before. 

"Yeah...I don't see him much right now, he's...uh...he's been travelling the world. Nice guy. You'd like him. And I'm pretty sure he'd like you." Harry had been writing to Sirius about his illicit lessons, and Padfoot's response had been that Harry should continue to enjoy the lessons, but that if Anders got into trouble, there would be Words. Sirius had also mentioned that he was of the camp that believed Anders Grimalkin was not guilty of the crimes he'd been punished for. Harry had expected nothing else. 

"Well, who knows. Maybe one day." Anders glanced at Harry. "Listen, term starts again next week, and we'll have to cut the lessons back a bit." 

"Yeah, I know." Harry made a face as he took the broom back from Anders and they began walking back to the castle. "And it's exams term as well - not to mention the Slytherin-Gryffindor match coming up in three weeks. Bet you anything you like my team returns from their holidays forgetting everything we've practised. And you can almost guarantee that one of them will have lost their team socks..."

Anders let Harry's chatter wash over him. Something the boy had said had given him the germ of an idea for getting his own back on the House Elves. By the time they reached the Entrance Hall, the idea had sprouted and taken on a shape that brought a slightly wicked grin to the Professor's face. Harry glanced at him. "Sir? Did you hear what I just said?" 

"Huh? Oh, yes. Er...no, actually."

Harry shook his head. "I said, would you like to come into Hogsmeade tomorrow evening with Ron, Hermione and I? We're having a last moment of freedom before the term starts. Hagrid will be there, too." 

"Yeah, sure," said Anders, his mind elsewhere. "Whatever."

Harry watched as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor walked off, a faraway look in his eyes. "He REALLY needs a holiday," he murmured. 

* * *

"Welcome back, one and all to the start of the new term," beamed Albus Dumbledore, smiling round at the assembled student body. "I hope all of your Christmases were as satisfying and warming as our own." 

He glanced down the teacher's table at his great-nephew and sighed. "I have a small announcement to make before you all wonder what on earth has been going on. A little...disagreement took place between a member of the faculty and our resident House Elves, which has resulted in my necessary intervention before things got any further out of hand." 

From the corner of his eye, he could see the blush creeping up Anders' face, and fought back the urge to smile. "So when you all retire to your dormitories tonight, please be aware that the pink sheets, a result of a Gryffindor Quidditch team sock - er - 'accidentally' finding its way into the whites wash - will only be on the beds until an appropriate bleaching spell can be performed." 

Anders shrank into his seat, grinning a little nervously. It had been a moment of extreme tension when the House Elves had unloaded the washing machine that day. The sight of the pink sheets had caused four of them to faint dead away, and had necessitated Dumbledore taking Anders in hand and forbidding him to cause the little fellows any more grief. An uncertain, but grudging alliance had finally been forged between the two sides, and Anders no longer brought his bike parts inside the castle.

"And now, please enjoy the rest of your evening," continued Dumbledore, sitting back down and munching on the leg of a bird that could well have been an ostrich in a former life. Everywhere was full of merriment, of chatter and of comfortable conversation. 

And at the far end of the Slytherin table, nobody noticed Draco Malfoy talking earnestly to Peeves the Poltergeist.   


**(c) S Watkins, 2001**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	11. Backfire

FanFiction.Net

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at [][1]Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Ten: Backfire**

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**Author's Apology**: I'm SOOOO sorry it's been so long since chapter nine. Real Life(tm) has a nasty habit of kicking in at the most annoying moments. To all of you who emailed me nagging me to get the next chapter written, I hope you enjoy it!

**~ ~ ~**

"Some of this work," said Professor Grimalkin, handing out the marked essays, "was exemplary. Well done." He smiled at Hermione who flushed with pleasure. "Miss Granger particularly seems to have an excellent grasp of the subject of elementals, as does, I'm equally delighted to report, Mr Longbottom."

There was a collective gasp of surprise. Neville had never been singled out in a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that any of the Gryffindors could remember. But since Professor Grimalkin's first class, when he had conjured the little Neville illusion, the boy had blossomed. The Gryffindors had developed a soft spot for Anders based on this fact alone.

A roar from the back of the classroom caused the students to jump. Anders quirked one dark eyebrow and smiled wryly. "The fella's impatient," he said. "That," he added, almost nonchalantly, as he began to cross the room, "is a fire demon. One of a very few that have been raised in captivity. We are fortunate indeed that the Ministry of Magic saw fit to spare it for your studies." There was a faint note of sarcasm in his voice, and seeing the look of puzzlement that crossed everyone's face, he explained further.

"Elemental spirits such as this fire demon need to grow and learn even as you do. Although they're generally spared the homework, I believe." There was a somewhat nervous ripple of laughter. Anders smiled warmly at his class. "This one was summoned very early on its existence by a wizard who held it captive. It was later turned over to the Ministry of Magic for containment. All the time it is enslaved and held captive in its 'prison', it is virtually harmless."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Neville?"

"What happened to the wizard that had the demon captive?" Neville's round face was rapt, intent on listening to Anders' every word. The young Professor sighed. 

"It wasn't pretty, let's leave it there," he replied, softly. "The demon escaped from its bindings and wreaked rather a lot of havoc before it was contained again." 

The class shuffled their chairs a little further from the demon.

Anders shook his head again. He muttered, 'Lumos' under his breath, and a soft glow illuminated the corner. The entity that stood, encased in a cage seemingly constructed from little other than spider thread was truly awful to behold.

It was tall and lanky, towering over the 6'4" Professor, who looked up at it mildly. It was apparently constructed completely from living flame. Sinewy arms reached out, grasping for Anders as he approached, and the look of sheer malevolence in the thing's burning red eyes spoke of the unspeakable horrors it would work on the Professor should it have the opportunity.

Harry was filled with an almost desperate urge to warn the Professor not to go any closer. That thing had death in its eyes. It saw Anders as the reason it was encased in its weird cage and wanted revenge. But the young man seemed remarkably cool about the situation.

"The cage is constructed from Aquanoleum," said Anders, looking as though he was totally unaware of the glowing hatred in the demon's face. "Aquanoleum is a physical manifestation of a water spell, woven into threads that bind together in a web to prevent the fire demon from acting. Remember what I told you about counteracting elemental spells? Those of you who..." He swallowed. "...who saw Professor Snape and I duelling will have seen the effect water spells had on fire spells."

His eyes looked up and met the demons briefly and he sighed. "I do not personally like to see such entities imprisoned in this way. They belong to the volcanoes, to the centre of the earth from where they come, not in a cage in a Ministry building." His words seemed to be spoken directly to the demon, not the class. "It is with regret that I was advised that all the immature demons were still toofrisky, shall we say, for the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. This one is older, more world-wise, and, I am assured, less likely to turn. I do not wish to cause it unnecessary harm, butyour curriculum is, after all, your curriculum." He moved even closer to the cage, and Harry's breath caught in his throat.

"It has been brought here for today's class for us to experiment with different types of defence against fire elementals. Next week I hope to have a water demon, the week after, earth, and the final week before your exams start, air."

He glanced up at the class. "Many fire demons aremischievous as opposed to truly evil - but there are some - " and here he shot a sideways look at the thing, "that will destroy everything in their path until they are vanquished. And they do this for no reason other than the fact they can do it."

He could not repress the shudder.

"Our experiments today will obviously figure very heavily around the fire elemental. Normally, the Ministry would perform this service for me in advance, but they are, apparently, too busy and have requested that I do this myself. Please note that the spell I am about to cast is one that is as close to the Dark Arts as you can get without crossing the line."

His voice shook a little as he said this. But, confidently, he stood before the cage again, and bowed his head, almost apologetically. Anyone close enough would hear him mutter an apology to the demon before he held up his wand and chanted 'Brimstone multiplartum!"

There would be two things the truly observant would notice when Anders cast this spell. The first was that a faint sheen of sweat broke out on his face, and the second was that the crystal pendant he wore around his neck seemed to glow slightly.

The thing let out a roar of rage? Pain? It was impossible to tell which - and several tiny sparks leapt forth from it, burning on the ground before Anders. He knelt down and picked one up in his bare hand.

"Here," he said, dropping it into the palm of Ron who was nearest. "Take it. It won't hurt you. It's incapable of hurting you - it's a neo-demon. It is a child of our fiery friend there, and will be neither good nor evil unless you teach it one or the other."

He scooped up the other dancing flames gently, almost paternally, and began dropping them on the student's desks. "I want you to study these neo-demons for the remainder of this class, and I am going to teach you the four very basic element defence spells that you can use to examine elemental effects on the fire element."

The pendant around his neck had reverted to its dormant state, and he glanced down at it, a look of relief crossing his face briefly. Then he seemed to pull himself together, and the chalk sprang to life again.

"To cast a simple spell of water on the demon, the spell is 'Aqueatus'. Wands down, repeat the words after me, please." He repeated the process for 'Terraneus' for earth, 'Cumulus' for air and 'Pyrolus' for fire." Then he nodded.

"All yours," he said. "Experiment, and note."

And all the while, the parent demon in its cage at the back of the room was staring at him balefully. He returned its stare with an apologetic gaze of his own, then looked away, ending the Lumos spell and returned to his seat, troubled.

* * *

"That was AMAZING fun," enthused Ron as they packed up their things at the end of the lesson. His tiny neo-demon had ended up three times its original size when he had cast a succession of fire spells on it, but Professor Grimalkin had put a stop to his fun by idly casting an earth spell and firmly reminding him that he had other spells to experiment with.

Harry and Hermione agreed readily and, their bags over their shoulders, they left the classroom, Harry glancing over his shoulder to grin at Anders as he passed. He paused in the doorway, watching the young Professor intently. 

"Sir? Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Oh, Harry. I was just...that demon. I hope the Ministry returns for it soon. It makes me extremely unhappy having it here."

"You said its bindings were safe, didn't you?" Harry knew a moment's fear. The fire demon was so very...big. And the majority of people at Hogwarts were, in comparison, so very...small.

"Oh, yes. The only thing that can destroy that cage is a Dark Arts spell of great magnitude. I do not believe anyone in this school has that knowledge. It takes years of studying the Dark Arts to even begin to control a demon. Anyone who simply dabbles would be in for rather a nasty surprise if they tried." He gave Harry an encouraging smile. "How about..." he lowered his voice. "How about a lesson tonight?"

"That'd be great..." began Harry, then his face fell. "I can't, not tonight. We have an Astronomy practical and I really have to cram."

Professor Grimalkin looked equally disappointed, but shrugged. The fourth-year Ravenclaw class were starting to file into the room, and Anders winked at Harry, effectively dismissing him before turning his attentions to the second-year class to whom he was teaching Curse theory.

As Harry left, he felt the gaze of the demon touch him and he turned briefly to stare at it. It was truly intimidating, and he did not trust it one little bit.

* * *

"It'll be brilliant," said Malfoy in his drawling voice. "We'll do it at dinner when everyone's there, then accuse him!"

"Draco, you come up with the most wonderful ideas," said Pansy Parkinson admiringly. "How did you find out about it?"

"I figured it out, stupid," sneered Draco. "What you don't know about me, Parkinson, is that I pay attention whilst the rest of you ignore what's going on around you. Professor Grimalkin is a freak, and the school should be told about it! For all we know, he could be a vampire." Draco had been studying the same books as Hermione, but for very, very different reasons. 

Pansy felt a moment's sympathy for the young Professor, who she rather liked in an odd sort of way, but it quickly passed at the idea that he was a vampire. "Ooh," she said. "He is rather pale, isn't he?" Draco smiled inwardly at how quickly the idea had rooted in her mind. If she was so easily swayed, then the majority of the school would be, too.

Draco's words rather worried her. The Professor had always been a little on the pale and wan side, and she had always simply assumed it was because of his illness. But if what Draco was implying was true...

Pansy looked down at the book Draco had shoved across the table. "An Umbra?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She read the description of how that particular clan held people's attention and began to panic slightly. She, herself, had found Anders Grimalkin's Defence Against the Dark Arts classes more than fascinating on several occasions. Maybe this explained it...

She squeaked and slammed the book shut. "It's possible," she said. "After all, the Headmaster DID hire a werewolf...there's not much to stop him from hiring a vampire as well..."

"This should see the end of the old coot's reign at Hogwarts," said Draco, gleefully. "Oh, Pansy, this is going to be marvellous!"

"Yes..." she said, a little doubtfully. "Marvellous."

Draco rubbed his hands together. "Spolio Facticius," he said, showing her the Strip Artifice spell. "I perform it, Grimalkin is exposed! No more shadow, one shamed Professor Grimalkin. The other students are going to thank me for this...oh, yes. It's going to be a total triumph. A masterpiece of wizardry. Grimalkin will go down in a blaze of shame. I, on the other hand..." He puffed up triumphantly, "will be treated to a blaze of glory."

* * *

As if somehow connected with Draco Malfoy's evil plans, the weather took a turn for the worse that afternoon. Thunderous clouds hung over the castle like a flock of particularly evil birds. When the rain finally began to fall, it was in vertical sheets of water that battered off the school roofs and flattened a vast amount of the plant life in the gardens.

Anders Grimalkin, staring out of his classroom window could not recall ever seeing such horrendous rain, not even in Wales, where it rained more or less constantly. Or at least FELT that way.

A howl of rage from the corner of the room caused him to get to his feet and move again to the demon. It was looking slightly transparent, wavering and - if such a word could be applied to such a creature - sickly, apparently distressed by the amount of moisture it could sense in the air. Anders flicked his wand into his hand and fed the thing a couple of small fire spells, watching with satisfaction as it became less translucent. He nodded and turned away, ignoring once again the look of chilling malevolence it shot the young DADA Professor.

He completed the lesson and spent an extra hour or so marking some papers before heading to the Great Hall for dinner.

The weather had driven not only every student and teacher - including Professor Trelawney - into the Great Hall, but also apparently every ghost in the place. The latter may, of course, have had something to do with Peeves circulating the rumour, on Malfoy's orders, that something spectacular was going to happen at dinner. Anders moved quietly to take his seat, finding himself, much to his annoyance, seated next to Sybill Trelawney, who took no time at all in relaying to him in her sonorous voice that the weather was a portent of doom.

The young Professor had learned very early on in his dealings with Professor Trelawney that the best course of action was simply to nod and smile occasionally, leaving her with the impression that he was listening to every word she was saying, when in fact he was running over tomorrow's lesson plans in his head.

"Yoo hoo! Grim!"

Peeves floated through the centre of the top table towards him and he rolled his eyes skywards. He'd managed to escape taunting from the Poltergeist for most of the term. Why Peeves had decided to pick tonight...it was either Trelawney...or the poltergeist.

Anders groaned inwardly. Why him? 

"Grim!" Peeves jabbed a ghostly finger at him, which passed through his chest in most disconcerting manner. "I've been visiting your little pet in the DADA classroom. Doesn't like you very much, does he, Grim? He told me some of the things he would like to do to his captor if he could only get out of the Binding Spell. Oooh, do you want to hear them? They're so gruesome..."

"That's enough, Peeves," said Dumbledore, mildly. "Professor Grimalkin..."

"...Professor Grimalkin is quite capable of answering for himself, thank you Headmaster," said Anders, a little irritated at Dumbledore's apparently perpetual belief that his nephew needed constant protection. He turned back to the poltergeist. "Go away, Peeves," he said, his voice low and with enough of an edge to it to make Professors Trelawney and Vector who sat to the other side of him, shuffle away.

The poltergeist opened his ghostly mouth to retort, but then caught the glint of the threat in Anders' mouth and closed it firmly before disappearing with a pop.

Anders settled back in his seat comfortably and grinned at Dumbledore who smiled back affectionately. The boy's confidence was growing so fast now, that it would soon be time to rein it in before he got cocky.

Dinner was, as always, delicious and very, very plentiful. Professor Trelawney ate like a sparrow, nibbling at the tiniest morsels on her plate and bemoaning the fact that portents of doom hung everywhere that day, and they were all pointing at Anders Grimalkin. He smiled at her.

"Maybe, Professor," he said, in his most charming voice. "You might actually be talking a load of complete..."

It was then that he happened to look down at the Slytherin table and met the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

He knew that look.

That was the look of a highly unpleasant individual out to make the life of Anders Grimalkin a complete misery.

A slow smile spread across Malfoy's pointed face, making him look slightly demented and particularly malicious. Anders watched him with a sort of horrible fascination as the Slytherin's wand slid into his hand and pointed up at the table. And for what was probably the first time in his entire life, Anders did something he'd never done before.

He got out of the way.

When the dust had settled, Anders found it very hard to piece together exactly what had happened. As the first syllables of the Spolio Facticius spell left Malfoy's lips, Anders had instantly figured out what the boy's idea was and had ducked instantly under the table. Professors Trelawney and Vector, startled by the man's sudden movement leaned in towards one another to see where he'd gone and were struck by the spell at the same time.

Malfoy's mouth formed a horrified 'O' of surprise as he realised just what he'd done. He hurriedly shoved the wand away again and watched in complete, total and utter horror as the scene unfolded in front of him.

The Strip Artifice spell struck the two female professors simultaneously, and the results were somewhere between tragic and hysterically funny. Professor Vector, who most of the students found easy to get along with was not affected by the spell. Having no reason to change anything about herself, there was nothing artificial for the spell to remove.

Professor Trelawney was another matter.

The illusion she wove around herself was immediately broken, and the usually tall, large-eyed, ethereal looking woman was revealed to be a short, dumpy middle-aged witch with a squint that gave her a first-class view of her nose. She let out a strangled cry of horror and fled the Great Hall to a mixture of snickers and murmurs of sympathy.

At this point, Anders re-emerged from under the table, holding a dinner fork that he'd taken as an excuse for ducking. He saw the door shut as Professor Trelawney left.

Dumbledore was already on his feet, leaning in at the student body. "What," he said, in his most threatening tone, "just happened there? Who saw the caster of that spell? Severus? Minerva? Anders?"

For a split second, Anders was tempted to spill the beans on Draco Malfoy, but he looked down at the Slytherin. Disturbed by the sheer hatred he saw in Malfoy's eyes, he shook his head numbly. "I didn't see, Headmaster," he said. "I...uh...dropped my fork..."

Something like relief flooded over the Slytherin boy's face, but he hardened it again very quickly. Dumbledore shook his head. "Poor Sybill," he murmured. "She's kept that illusion a great secret for many years."

Anders was sorely disappointed he'd missed it, but relieved that he'd avoided the embarrassment that he knew would have followed had Malfoy's spell hit home. Now he knew that the Slytherin knew his secret - he would have to tread very carefully. 

His eyes swung over to Hermione Granger, the girl that Draco had more or less accused him of impropriety with.

Yes. Tread very carefully indeed.

* * *

Anders headed back to the DADA classroom after dinner to check on the demon one more time before calling it a night. He was not surprised to find Draco Malfoy lounging idly at his desk, his two goons mooching behind him.

"Malfoy," he acknowledged.

"You were lucky tonight, 'Professor'," drawled the Slytherin. "But I wanted you to know that I've only just started." The boy got to his feet and leaned across the desk. "I know what you are, Grimalkin, and I'm going to prove it. You'll be out of this school so fast that you won't know what hit you."

Unfazed, Anders leant back towards Malfoy.

"If you don't get out of my sight now, you won't know what hit you, either."

Malfoy sneered.

"Yes, Grimalkin. I know all about your...temper as well. You'd better just watch yourself, you murdering coward. Just one more bit of useful fodder, and you'll have handed me the noose to hang you with." Malfoy leaned in closer still until his face was just inches from Anders'.

"And I'll enjoy watching you swing."

He let it go and snapped his fingers. Crabbe and Goyle, smirking infuriatingly fell in line behind their leader and the three boys left the DADA classroom and a highly agitated young Professor behind them.

// Why don't you have a little revenge? //

Anders started in horror. The Inner Voice was back, and it sounded faintly amused, as though the scene that had just taken place had been arranged purely for its own entertainment.

"What do you mean...revenge?" began Anders, but found his eyes automatically drawn to the far end of the room, and the cage, where the fire demon was sleeping, snoring in a vaguely comical way, a small plume of smoke emitting from its nostrils every time it exhaled. "No..." he said, hesitantly. "There's...revenge and there's downright stupidity..."

// I'm not suggesting you do *anything* other than give them a little scare, Anders, now, am I? // the voice insisted, soothingly.

"I can't," replied the young man desperately fighting the urge to flick his wand into his hand. "I can't," he repeated, more firmly, backing up to the door.

// Anders, Anders, Anders. // The voice actually sounded as if it were truly disappointed in him, and there was something there...that he recognised. He was almost totally unaware of the fact that his wand was now in his hand and raised ready to cast the spell.

"...." he began, then his real self got a grip. "No!" he yelled, throwing his wand from him and backing up to the door. "I won't do it."

// Oh, you will, Anders, // the voice chuckled. // You do everything I want you to in the end. //

And he was alone again.

**(c) S Watkins, 2001**

   [1]: mailto:sarah.watkins@onyx.net



	12. Blaze of Glory

Untitled Document 

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

Chapter Eleven: Blaze of Glory

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

**Author's Apology**: Like last time, my apologies for delay in Chapter 11. You may (or may not) be interested to know that as soon as this is submitted, I'll also be formatting 12 and 13!

Enjoy - and as always, feedback appreciated!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Anders' sleep that night was more than disturbed. It was virtually non-existent. It seemed that every time he closed his eyes, the Dream was there, waiting in the wings. Waiting to take centre stage in his subconscious. He lay awake, bathed in sweat, the covers long since thrown off. He lay there, half-clothed and staring at a fixed point on the ceiling, in an effort to bore himself to sleep. 

Finally he gave it up as a completely lost cause and swung his legs out of the bed, resting his head in his hands for a while. He reached for his cigarettes, only to discover to his complete annoyance that he had smoked the last.

He sat on the edge of his bed, still wearing only his jeans, and put his head in his hands. Damn Draco Malfoy. Damn him to hell, back, and back again.

// You could always get your own back. // 

  
The voice was there again, inside his mind. He almost fell off the bed in shock and abject horror. He wouldn't listen. He KNEW the tone of that inner voice. It was that voice that made him do things he didn't remember. The voice that had been behind every display of petulance and temper he had ever displayed. Terror came into his expression.

He got to his feet and started pacing the room like a caged lion. Had anybody been in the room with him, they would have witnessed a strange sight. Anders began muttering to himself, punctuating every other word with a strange sound that was something between an expletive and a whimper. 

He began talking aloud in strange, obscure and broken sentences. "Can'twho itdon't want" then he would pause, as if listening to someone's reply. "Nonot allowed" This went on for some time, until finally, and most strangely, Anders flung his back up against the wall as if he could physically back away from the voice in his head. 

He let out a shriek of anger and sank to his knees, clawing at his face in desperation. "Get out of my head!" he screamed. Blood began to ooze from the scratch marks he left, leaving scarlet trails down his pale skin. He moaned softly with a combination of the pain and the fear. 

But nobody heard him. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was cloaked in the safety of slumber.

And as suddenly as he'd started, the struggle seemed to stop. 

Anders went limp and got to his feet. Nobody saw the very oddly behaving young wizard wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a vague, haunted expression leave his room and head downstairs. He moved as if on autopilot, his steps hesitant and stumbling. He turned away from the Great Hall and headed for the DADA classroom.

// Let's just give them a little scare, shall we? // said the voice in his head gleefully as he walked. // We let this fellow out, he causes a bit of a scare, then they'll know not to mess with us. //

The fire demon's ambient glow lit up the empty classroom with an ethereal orange light that set the hairs on the back of Anders' neck on edge. He stood in front of the cage and the demon hurled itself against its bindings.

"Hello, my fiery friend," said the DADA Professor in a voice which was his, butquite unlike his. "You are looking a bitshall we say, cramped there? How about an exchange of favours?"

The demon stopped its incessant gnashing and stared at the Professor, almost bemused by what it was hearing. Picking up his wand, which he had left on the desk in the classroom, Anders walked around the cage dreamily.

He hadn't even been aware he knew the words to the spell, but as he stood there before the demon, the words of the demon-mastering spell came to his lips. A spell that was forbidden to him both by the laws of his Art, and by the laws of Azkaban.

The smoky-quartz pendant around his neck flared into life, glowing a rich, blood red, matching the glare from the creature's own, as one by one the threads of aquanoleum holding it rigid snapped and frayed, until it was released.

For the briefest of moments, the eyes of the demon and the eyes of the young DADA Professor met.  
Anders knew true fear in that fleeting second.

Then the fire demon bowed its head and knelt in submission to its new master.

"A favour for a favour," murmured the Professor, in a strange, hollow voice. "You are free, my demon. Now go play your little games."

As the fiery apparition roared out through the DADA classroom door, burning a hole through the wood, Anders watched it impassively, before turning and striding down the corridor and out through a side door.

The storm outside was still raging, and the occasional flash of lightning lit up the young man as he wandered aimlessly in the rain, half-naked, apparently walking nowhere. 

"What have I done?" he was moaning. "What have I done?"

He wandered aimlessly for a while before heading towards Hagrid's hut. About halfway across the school lawn, he fell to his knees and howled with some strange inner agony. The pendant around his neck ceased its glow and ebbed to a constant ruby. His second life.

Gone.

  
Eventually, he got back to his feet, and, clad only in his jeans, his feet bare and soon soaked by the wet grass, staggered blearily and in a daze toward the only person he knew who could help him.

* * *  


Hagrid also had been suffering a bout of insomnia that night - perhaps, as it turned out, fortunately for the rest of the school. He therefore heard the sound of Anders' approach before the young teacher knocked on the door. The kindly giant opened the door and his eyes widened in shock at the sight of the bloody-faced, soaking, semi-dressed young man staggering towards him.

"Anders?"

At first, Hagrid thought the man was drunk, as a pair of bewildered, confused blue eyes turned on him. "Anders, sit down 'fore you fall down." He hustled the young man inside the hut and forced him into a seat. "What's wrong? What's 'appened?"

"I don't know," came the hoarse reply. "I DON'T KNOW!" He gripped at the pendant around his neck and thrust it up towards Hagrid. "I've done something, Hagrid, and I don't know what it is!"

A fit of coughing descended on him. Hagrid, immediately concerned for several reasons, not least of which was that he was well aware of Anders' medical condition, rushed to fetch a few threadbare towels. "I'll go get Madam Pomfrey, shall I?"

Anders did not respond, but sat in the chair, staring dead ahead. Hagrid was unnerved. In this state, Anders did not bother to maintain his illusory shadow, and the flickering firelight that illuminated him reminded Hagrid painfully of the young man's affliction. "Right. Yes. Madam Pomfrey," said Hagrid, a little uncertainly, starting to head for the door.

The non-existent shadow gave him the creeps, if he were to admit it. Like Harry and his friends, like Draco, Hagrid had gone through the suspicions that Anders Grimalkin was a vampire. But he'd gotten to know the boy, and later the man. And his concern for his friend encompassed any doubts that he may have had. "Anders..."

Anders said nothing.

Hagrid, genuinely concerned for the young Professor, lumbered heavily across the school grounds. That was when he saw the first flames licking from the dungeon barred window of the Slytherin common room.

His heart stopped for a full minute.

Hogwarts was alight.

Roaring, Hagrid charged into the castle, yelling for anyone who could hear him to head for the Slytherin common room and to be ready to fight the fire.

* * *

// What's the matter, Anders? //

* I didn't want to do that. Why did you make me do that? *

// Oh, but you DID want to do it, my boy. Your heart positively - excuse the pun - burned with the desire for revenge! I just gave you the means and the know-how to do it! //

* Who ARE you? Why do you keep doing this to me? *

// Now, now, Anders. Didn't I ever teach you not to ask questions? //  
* I...what is going to happen? What will the demon do? *

// Now that it's set fire to the building, it'll continue to grow. It will be unstoppable. The only thing that will stop it, Anders, is a maximum power Ice or Water spell. And you don't have the power or the ability to do that. //

* What is it you want from me? * Despair.

// I want you back in Azkaban where you belong, Anders. And when the Ministry hear about what you've done here tonight...coupled with the spell you cast on Severus Snape...oh, you'll be back inside with the Dementors faster than you can say Expecto Patronum. //

Maybe it was the word 'Azkaban' that suddenly snapped Anders out of his misery. He seemed to come out of his semi-conscious delirium and the cold, cool mask of reality slid into place on his tortured face. Leaping to his feet he ran to the window and stared out in abject horror at the scene before him. Hogwarts in flames. Because of him.

// Beautiful, isn't it, Anders? And all our work. I'll be well rewarded for this, Anders. Well rewarded. And when you go before the Dementors for the Kiss, I will leave you to your soulless existence. And all because you're a coward. A poor excuse for a wizard. A nothing. A nobody. //  
  
And then he knew. He knew, and that knowledge was like a knife in his gut. "Why?" he whispered aloud. "Why?"

// Figured it out at last, brat? // The inner voice sneered nastily. // Taken you long enough! Still, it's too late to do anything about it. Once Hogwarts is razed to the ground, you'll be taken back to Azkaban. Do have a good trip. And all because you lack the strength to do anything. Goodbye, Anders. We shan't meet again. //

And the inner voice was gone. Anders put his hands to his head. The knowledge was more painful than the rasping of his straining lungs, more agonising than anything he had ever known.

Why? He just did not understand why? But, he realised, slowly coming back to reality. Now was not the time to wonder why. Now was the time to attempt to undo the terrible wrong he had committed. At heart, Anders Grimalkin was a good man.

"No," he said, his voice full of conviction. "You're wrong. I DO have the strength."

With that, he ran headlong towards the burning castle.

* * *

And what of the demon?

After starting the inferno, it had lumbered, growing in strength and power from the proximity of the flames, towards the Slytherin dormitories. It did not have a consciousness as such, but it knew the idea that had been instilled into its fiery brain. 

// Kill Draco Malfoy. //

It didn't really know who Draco Malfoy was. Just an image, a face that had been impressed into its mind. But it would charge blindly onwards until it either succeeded or it was defeated. 

It travelled the corridors, moving with a swiftness that belied its monstrous proportions, and within a very few moments it had entered the Slytherin dormitory where Draco Malfoy was sleeping the blameless sleep of those who confidently feel they know no wrong.

The blond boy awoke gradually to the unpleasant sensation of his hair singing. The sweet, sickly smell permeated his nostrils and made him cough. As his eyes opened and fixed on the demon, his first reaction was one of incredulous shock. His second reaction was one of complete panic as the demon grinned an unearthly grin at him and reached out a clawed, grasping hand.

Screaming out in shocked horror, Draco felt the thing's flames burn into his flesh, searing, white-hot pain that perhaps mercifully reduced him to unconsciousness very quickly.

The demon showed neither concern nor interest in the screams of its intended victim as it unceremoniously picked the motionless boy out of his bed and began lumbering towards the Owlery.

// Kill Draco Malfoy. //

* * *

By now, of course, the whole school was aware of what was going on. The remaining Slytherins, mostly trapped in their dormitories by the blaze in the common room were in an abject panic and their screams and pleas for help could be heard by the students who had gathered in the dungeon area. Drawn like moths to danger, they now mingled about aimlessly, not quite knowing what to do.

"Where are the teachers?" said a white-faced Hufflepuff girl, clinging onto an equally scared-looking boy. "Why aren't they here yet?"

"We are here," came a smooth voice from the doorway. Professor McGonagall, flanked by Professors Sprout and Vector stood there, all in dressing girls, and, rather distractingly, Professor Sprout's hair was in curlers. "What is going on?"

"The Slytherin common room is on fire," said a Ravenclaw sixth-year rather importantly. "The fire demon from the DADA classroom is on the rampage."  


McGonagall exchanged a glance with Professor Vector, then looked back at the closed door of the common room. "And where is Professor Grimalkin?"

"I will go fetch him," said Professor Sprout, turning to the door and jogging off in the direction of the staircase. Professor McGonagall nodded. "We must put this fire out," she said to Professor Vector. "No doubt Severus and Albus are on their way, but we had best start this without them."

Professor Vector looked rather pale at the prospect. McGonagall turned to the amassed students. "I want you all to leave and assemble in your own common rooms. Do not return here."

"But Professor" The Ravenclaw boy protested.

"Am I not speaking the same language, Mr Phillips? Do not return here. All of you keep an eye out for Professor Grimalkin. It is his demon - he is the only one who can control it."

"Yes, Professor."

The students - reluctantly - filed out of the dungeon area, passing Severus Snape who actually had the decency to look disturbed. He entered the room where McGonagall and Vector stood, their faces grim.

Spotting the flames licking from under the common room door, his lips thinned, and he nodded in something akin to satisfaction.

"Grimalkin."

"Now is not the time to apportion blame, Severus," said McGonagall, primly. "Now is the time to douse these flames and save the Slytherin students."

Snape had already raised his wand and levelled it at the door. "Prepare your first water spells," he said, tensely. "I am going to open the door. After three."

The three seconds he counted seemed to stretch on forever, then:

"Alohomora!"

The door sprung open and the flames leaped out, delighted to have new areas to destroy. They met immediately with powerful water spells cast by the other two Professors, which doused the weaker flames. The stronger flames, however, being well-nourished and savage children of the greater demon, began to spread their flames around the dungeon gleefully.

"Again!"

Three water spells this time, doused another child demon, which extinguished with a howl of anguish - but not before leaving behind several offspring of its own.

"This is going to take a long time," said Snape, grimly. "We need help. Where the hell is Grimalkin?"  
"Er, Sir?"

The voice made all three Professors turn. Neville Longbottom stood there, in his pyjamas, his wand in his hand. "I want to help, sir."

"Longbottomget back to your common room" began Snape, but McGonagall interrupted him. 

"Professor Grimalkin has spoken highly of your competence in elemental magic," she said. "You may help. But if we tell you to leave, you do so, is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Neville, squaring his shoulders importantly, and casting the first of his water spells onto one of the smaller demons. McGonagall nodded, and echoed Snape's wondering words.

"Where the hell is Grimalkin?"

* * *

Anders Grimalkin was standing in the main hall of Hogwarts Castle, chaos around him. In the scramble to get back to their common rooms, none of the students seemed to notice the half-clad young teacher. He looked, for all the world, like any other young student. Eventually, he caught someone's arm.

"Where is the demon?" he asked, urgently. The student stared at him in fright. Anders gripped a little tighter and repeated his question.

"I don't know," babbled the terrified student, breaking free and running off in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room. Anders span around in bewilderment, but tried to remain calm. Not easy when people were charging every which way.

Closing his eyes, he tried to reach out to the demon with his thoughts. He was technically the demon's master now, after all, and should have a certain amount of control over it. He could exert that control and bring this whole thing to an end.

But that would mean using forbidden magic, dark magic that would put him back into Azkaban.

His mind reached out to the demon, and the vehemence of the thought that was powering it almost knocked him over backwards.

// Kill Draco Malfoy. //

~ I order you to stop! ~

// Kill Draco Malfoy. //

Anders bit his lip so hard he drew blood and tried to feel through the demon, to work out where it was. He knew that it wouldn't be anywhere near the fire - the fire would have been a distraction.

And then it was easy to see through the demon's eyes, to feel what the demon was feeling. The hatred make his blood rage, made him wish he were another sort of wizard altogether. This was what dark power tasted like

Screaming obscenities aloud at himself, Anders' eyes snapped open, and he began to run up the stairs to the corridor that would take him to the bottom of the Owlery.  


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	13. Prisoner

Untitled Document 

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

Chapter Twelve: Prisoner

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The fire in the Slytherin common room was finally out, but the Professors and Neville were exhausted. They had been joined at an opportune moment by Hagrid, who had carried a vast barrel of water into the room and physically dumped it over much of the blaze, lessening their task quite considerably.

"You did well, Neville," said Professor McGonagall to the weary boy, softly. Professor Vector nodded enthusiastically, and even Snape grunted his acknowledgement. Neville positively glowed with pride, despite feeling as though he would fall over at any moment.

Hagrid stroked his singed beard thoughtfully. "Anders ain't gonna be happy when he sees this damage," he said, looking around at the desecrated common room. Professor McGonagall looked up sharply.

"Where IS Anders?" she asked.

"I left 'im in my cottage," said the big man, carefully. "'e 'ad a bad night an' had come ter see me for a bit of a chat, like. I saw the blaze an' rushed over to helphe was feelin' a bit poorly an' stayed."

"Convenient," murmured Snape. "Putting himself away from the main action." McGonagall shot him a look so full of venom that the Potions Master almost patted his pocked to see if he had the antidote.

"Where is the Headmaster?" she wondered aloud. "I'm very surprised he isn't here."

Snape dusted down his ash-covered robes. "You find Grimalkin," he said, "and you will find Professor Dumbledore. I almost guarantee it."

* * *

The Owlery was glowing orange from the presence of the fire demon. It crouched in a corner, making a strange noise that could be whimpering. The inert figure of Draco Malfoy lay in front of it, and it was this extraordinary tableau that met Anders Grimalkin's eyes as he slammed the Owlery door open.

The demon raised its hot-coal eyes to look at its master as he entered.

"Kill Draco Malfoy?" it said, in a whispery, feathery sort of voice. "Yes, master?"

"No," said Anders, his tone mild, but his heart pounding so hard he thought that the creature must surely hear it. "Don't kill him." His breath was coming in short gasps now. Being outside in next to no clothing, coupled with the exertions of racing up the steps to the Owlery had brought his delicate condition to something of a head. His lungs felt as though the demon had reached in through his back and clutched them in his fiery grip.

He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath, then walked carefully to the prone figure of Draco Malfoy. Kneeling down beside the boy, he put fingers to his pulse and closed his eyes gratefully. It was light and fluttery, but it was there. Burns covered much of the boy's forearms and where the demon had touched his nightclothes, the fabric had burned away. He gathered Malfoy up in his arms and got slowly to his feet.

"You can't stay here," said Anders, wretchedly at the poor confused behemoth. "You know that I have to banish you now."

"Kill Draco Malfoy?" said the thing again, getting to its feet in a curious imitation of Anders. It pointed a finger at the figure in Anders' arms.

"No."

The firmness and conviction surprised even him. "I have to banish you."

"No, Anders."

The voice came from the door of the Owlery, and he turned, startled, to see Albus Dumbledore stood there, dressed in a Wee Willie Winky style nightshirt, complete with bed cap. "Uncle?"

"You must not banish the demon. To do so would violate your final chance of freedom. It is a forbidden thing to summon and banish elementals, you know that as well as I."

"What choice do I have?" Tears stood in the young man's bright blue eyes. "This demon did nothing wrong. It did what it was toldnothing else."

"Why not simply use anti-elemental magic on it?" It was not really a question, because Albus Dumbledore understood Anders Grimalkin more than even the boy himself did.

Anders walked up to his great uncle and gently put Draco's body in his arms. "Because that would end its existence," he said, softly, but with great conviction. "And I do not wish to do that. I wish simply to send it back to where it belongs. It has done no wrong here. I have."

"Have you, my boy? Or do you know now who it is who has been doing all these terrible things?"

Anders stared at him.

"How do you"

"Do you know who it is who has been controlling you?"

"Yes, I believe so, but I"  
  
At this moment, the demon decided it had had enough of the two humans talking incessantly and with an expression that could only be described as something like a cross between a leer and a scowl, began screaming at Anders in some strange language.

The young DADA professor snatched Dumbledore's wand from his hand and turned to face it. 

"Don't do this, Anders," said Dumbledore. "Let me do it. I am under no restriction"

"You are," said the boy between clenched teeth. "You aren't its master."

Screaming, the demon hurled a bolt of fire at the DADA professor, who took the missile squarely in the chest, but with a quick word of a spell, managed to put out the flames before any damage was done. 

"Anders"

"I have to do this."

He raised his wand and chanted the arcane words of the banishment spell that would send the fire demon back to the place from whence it had originated, and that would send him back to Azkaban.

* * *

And what of Harry, Ron and Hermione while all this excitement was going on? Gryffindor Tower, being the farthest from the excitement in Slytherin House was one of the last to hear about what was going on - which was why Neville had not appeared until later. 

The three friends arrived, strangely for them, long after the excitement was over. However, they were all pleased to discover that their quiet little friend Neville was apparently the hero of the hour.

"Where is Professor Grimalkin?" asked Hermione, softly. There was something altogether not right about this.

"That's the question everybody's asking, Miss Granger," said Snape, appearing like an angel of doom over her right shoulder. "Do you have any ideas at all where our errant DADA professor might be? After all, it's common knowledge that you seem to know himrather well."

Hermione bristled.

"I'm not his keeper, Professor Snape," she said, hotly. "I have no idea where he is."

"He's in the Owlery."

Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, looking old and tired, more so, perhaps than the students had ever seen him before. Snape looked up at the Headmaster and his eyebrows furrowed.  
"Why the Owlery?"

"He can't leave," was the simple reply. "He is imprisoned in a time lock spell that will hold him until the Dementors arrive."

"The Dementors?" The word was echoed aloud by everyone present.

"Yes," said the Headmaster. "The Dementors will be here presently. Anders banished the fire demon before it could do any more damage, and in so doing has used up the power in his pendant. Once he cast that spell, he was then locked in time and will remain in the Owlery until he is returned to Azkaban."

"But Headmaster" Hermione felt tears coming to her eyes. "They can't do that. He saved the school!"

"Yes, Miss Granger, he did. He also saved Draco Malfoy from an unfortunate demise, but I am afraid the Ministry will not consider these things. Anders was released from Azkaban on conditions. He has broken the terms of those conditions, and the wheels of wizarding justice will be turning well this night."

"You aren't going to let them take him, are you?" said Ron, aghast. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Mild mannered Anders Grimalkin had barely survived his first spell in Azkaban. A second stay at the hotel for the dark and dangerous would most likely kill him.

"I cannot stop them, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore. "I cannot stop them. I must now request that you all return to your rooms as swiftly as possible. I do not wish to inflict the Dementors on Hogwarts for longer than is absolutely necessary."

Ron and Harry accompanied a sobbing Hermione back to the Gryffindor common room, where they sat in stunned disbelief on the sofas. Ron chanced his luck and put a comforting arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she turned and sobbed into his dressing gown.

"He didn't do anything wrong," she wailed. "He was helping Draco!"

"Butif the demon was let loose because of him in the first placemaybe he and Draco hadWords after dinner. You saw how they looked at each other," said Harry, thoughtfully.

Both Ron and Hermione turned to stare at him. "You don't really believe he's capable of inflicting that demon on the school on purpose, do you?" said Hermione, accusingly.

"No," said Harry, hurriedly. "But I'm trying to see it from the point of view of the Ministry. If they find out about Malfoy winding him upthey're going to put two and two together and make one hundred and forty, aren't they?" He got to his feet and paced. "I think we need to find out just what Malfoy had on him." He looked at Ron and Hermione grimly. "We can't let this happen."  


* * *

Anders was suddenly aware that he could move again. Control of his limbs was returned to him, the sensation bringing with it a thousand pins and needles. He yelped as he put his foot down, then steadied himself from falling. It was very disorienting.

"On your knees, Grimalkin," came a voice. "You know the drill, I believe."

His heart pounding painfully, Anders obeyed immediately and without question. He knew that sort voice, was familiar with the tone and - indeed, knew the drill. He lowered his head and held out his arms until he felt the magical bindings wrap around them. The pendant around his neck was a dull black in colour. It no longer shone, but was dim and nondescript.

Tears sprang to his eyes as he was jerked roughly to his feet by the Azkaban guard. It was then - and only then - that he lifted his head to meet the hooded stare of a Dementor.

"Please, no," he said, finally, after dragging his gaze away from the apparition. "I can't go back there. Don't make me go back there."

"You should have thought of that, Grimalkin," came the sneering response. "The Dementor is here to make sure you don't do anything else foolish before we get to the fortress."

"Where is mywhere is the Headmaster? Please, can I speak to him?"

The desperation in his voice was almost pitiful, and the guard sneered. "You may speak with him briefly whilst he signs the witness statement. But that's it. Then you're out of here, my friend."

Anders swallowed painfully. His lungs were still aching and he felt sick and weakened from his exertions. "Thedemon?" he asked, brokenly.

"Banished, Anders." Dumbledore was back in the Owlery, flanked by Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. The latter looked at Anders with something akin to satisfaction, and the young DADA teacher closed his eyes against the sight. The Headmaster crossed to him and embraced him swiftly. "It will be alright, my boy. Trust me. Dmitri has been advised, and we have evidence now. Remember what we were discussing before the demon attacked?"

Anders said nothing, but nodded.

"All you have to do is give me the name, Anders, and we will do the rest. Prove my theory."

"That's enough," snapped the guard angrily, pushing Anders away from Dumbledore. In his weakened state, the young man stumbled and fell. The Headmaster rounded on the guard furiously.

"You may behave like that in that accursed prison, sir, but in my school, you will conduct yourself with a modicum of decorum. Is that clear? I remember you, Darren Hoffer. You were a nasty little boy with the retention of a squashed grape and the intelligence to match. Do not mistreat this young man, or you will have me to answer to."

The guard, whose name was indeed Hoffer, cringed. He'd been terrified of Albus Dumbledore as a student and that hadn't gone away. "Yes, sir," he squeaked, pulling Anders to his feet, a little more gently. 

Professor Snape stepped in front of him.

"I know what you are, Grimalkin," he said, in a soft voice. "I always knew what you were. And what's going to happen to you"

"Enough, Severus," said Dumbledore, seeing fresh tears starting in Anders' eyes. "We will retire to discuss this. Anders - keep your chin up, my boy."

As the Dementor glided up to flank Anders and Hoffer, the young man turned briefly to his great uncle and mouthed four words.

// It was my father. //

* * *

Any joy that Albus Dumbledore might have felt at discovering his theory was correct was short lived. He called an emergency meeting of the Heads of Houses.

"With Grimalkin temporarily indisposed," he said, "the first order of business is to resume a certain level of normality within the school. Severus, you will take his classes, please."

The Potions Master inclined his head in acknowledgement. 

"Our second task," he said, "is to get together as much evidence as we can linking Dafydd Grimalkin to what has happened with Anders. Until tonight, I could only work on my suspicion that Anders' supposedly dead father is the one who has been behind his actions, but the boy himself confirmed it."

"But Dafydd Grimalkin was a Muggle, wasn't he?"

Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore exchanged glances. "Tell them, Severus," said Dumbledore softly.

"Dafydd Grimalkin was - is - we need to agree on a tense, Headmaster, this is most annoying. He IS a wizard. And his name is not Dafydd Grimalkin, either. It is Edward Gray. Gray attended Hogwarts as a student for two years. But he was so badly behaved and hungry for power, that he was expelled. He disappeared, and the Ministry lost trace of him."

"Why are you party to this information, Severus?" said McGonagall, coldly. "Why do none of the rest of us know?"

"We weren't sure," said the Headmaster. "When Anders started at the school, when a man named Dafydd Grimalkin made enquiries, we were suspicious immediately. I tracked his family history a little. And imagine my surprise to discover that his Muggle mother, Astrid, was distantly related to me. Anders is technically my great nephew. Many times removed, of course. So I took a personal interest in the boy."

"You digress, Headmaster," said Snape, smoothly picking up the narrative. "We watched Grimalkin closely during his first weeks here, and the Headmaster and I both commented independently on how similar he was in appearance to Gray."

"It was amazing how neither of us made that link," acknowledged the Headmaster. "But to all intents and purposes, we believed Gray to be dead."

Snape continued. "It was Hagrid who advised us of Grimalkin's missing shadow. Apparently, the boy had turned up on his doorstep looking for a confidante. Hagrid, in his usual capacity of picking up waifs and strays befriended the boy and even suggested he use the illusory shadow."

McGonagall nodded slowly. "This Edward Gray character," she said, slowly. "Am I right in assuming that you didn't like him, Severus?"

"I hated him. He was a bully and a liar. I'm rather afraid that I couldn't help taking out my animosity on Anders. He reminded me too much of his father. Apart from the overall attitude. But then that set me to thinking. Gray had been pure evil from head to foot. Why was Grimalkin, such a mild-mannered character put into Slytherin House? He was never suited to it. Apart from the temper, of course." Snape managed to sound mildly approving. "It was actually the temper that gave Gray away as far as I was concerned. Justcomments he used that brought back memories."

Snape did not elaborate. Gray had, in fact, bullied him for the duration of the two years he'd attended the school.

"I reported my findings to the Headmaster, who investigated a little more and discovered that until the a year or so before Anders was born, there was no such person as Dafydd Grimalkin. Edward Gray met and married Astrid Anderssen, but under the pseudonym Grimalkin."

"And where does Anders fit into this?"

The Headmaster rubbed at his gritty eyes. "When Anders started displaying out of character behaviour, I first grew suspicious that Gray might have been using him for nefarious purposes. When Hagrid reported the loss of the shadow, my suspicions grew."

"There is a powerful dark arts spell that allows its caster to manipulate someone through possession of their shadow," explained Snape. McGonagall's eyes opened wide, as Snape elaborated. "Bereft of their shadow, the victim of the spell becomes pliant and can be used as a weapon for destruction or, as the Headmaster believes, a vessel for learning."  


"That would explain why Anders never seemed to absorb anything he learned," said McGonagall, beginning to understand. "And why he would sometimes seem to be so very confused and not sure where he wasoh, Headmaster, how do we PROVE something like this?"

"A rather special little spell that I've been holding back until I was almost positive," said the Headmaster, rather pompously. "It's a spell that will summon Anders' shadow to us."

McGonagall stared.

"How can that"

"How can a shadow be stolen in the first place, Minerva? It works in a similar way to demon summoning. If my theory is correct, we should discover something rather interesting. If my theory is wrong"

"Yes?" prompted McGonagall, horrifed at the look on Dumbledore's face.

"If my theory is wrong, and Anders' shadow isn't in the possession of Edward Grayit will most likely kill him."

There was a long silence, then Snape spoke up.

"Think of the alternative, Minerva. If we don't try this, to prove Anders is innocent, he will be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss. This fate may, at least, prove merciful. I have spent the entire term trying to goad Gray into making one fatal error, to prove to the Headmaster and myself that our theory is correct, but he is clever, too clever. This is the only way."

McGonagall bit her lip. She was rather fond of the young Professor. He was quiet and shy, even sweet, and the thought of him having to undergo the Dementor's Kiss

"Then we try," she agreed. "We try."

"No trying, Minerva. We can't make a mistake on this one. This will be one of the most powerful spells you will ever be likely to cast. It needs three wizards to recite the incantation. Obviously Severus and myself are going to be part of this - it is up to you whether you want the stain of the Dark Arts on your hands."

"I don't think it's a question," said McGonagall primly. "Of course I will help."

"Very well," said Dumbledore getting to his feet. "First thing tomorrow morning."

  


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	14. Revelations

Untitled Document 

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there. 

email me at Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

Chapter Thirteen: Revelations

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

"Sixty six"

* DRIP *

"Sixty seven"

* DRIP *

"Sixty"

The voice broke into slightly hysterical laughter. Anders had been counting the droplets of water that ran from the ceiling and hit the ground of the cell, but he hadn't yet been able to count above sixty seven without laughing manically.

"One"

* DRIP *

"Two"

And so on. 

He had been doing this now for nearly twelve hours, since he had been brought, painfully silent and trembling like an autumn leaf, back into Azkaban. The representative from the Ministry, a man named Martin Morgan had stood listening to him with growing levels of mystified horror.

"He's quite mad, isn't he?" said Morgan to himself. "Yes, quite, quite mad. I always knew it was a mistake for the Two and Twenty to let this lunatic out into the outside world. It's such a pleasure to be proved right."

He turned away from Anders' cell and walked to the Liaison Office, where he closed the door, shutting out the sounds of the prison fortress that permeated the walls.

Sitting at the desk, Morgan pulled Anders' file towards him, took up a quill and began to write.

_"Subject: Grimalkin, Anders Rhys  
Age: 23  
Detail: Subject re-admitted to Azkaban following break of imposed parole conditions. Grimalkin has displayed evidence of mental breakdown following his re-admittance, and has neither spoken to anyone other than himself, nor shown any willingness to cooperate." _

Morgan wiped at his brow. It was hot in the tiny office, and he was a portly man. He dipped the quill in the inkwell and continued in his anal-retentively neat handwriting.

_"As per the rules, subject has a five day grace period for his supporters to present evidence. If this evidence is not forthcoming, the Ministry strongly recommend subject receives Dementor's Kiss as soon as possible. Grimalkin is subject to outrageous mood swings, something which he has continued to display. It is therefore the opinion of not only this representative, but of several Ministers that Grimalkin remains a risk, not only to others, but also to himself. Believe that appeal for Kiss is most humane method for ending this poor wretch's mental torment."_

Morgan believed every word he was writing. Despite the glaring evidence he had seen in the rooms where the Soulless resided, he still believed that the Dementor's Kiss was a fast, humane method of putting lost souls out of their perpetual misery. He dipped the quill in the inkwell again and carefully underlined the words 'strongly recommend' several times.

He signed the form with a flourish, and sat back in his seat, satisfied with a job well done.

Paperwork was so gratifying.

* * *

"Good morning, Minerva," said Severus Snape, meeting his colleague at the foot of Dumbledore's tower. Both Professors looked weary, and as they climbed the staircase to the Headmaster's office, wished heartily that Albus had taken offices on the ground level.

The headmaster sat at his desk looking even more tired than his staff. McGonagall privately doubted that he had slept at all. He rose when Snape and McGonagall entered, and smiled tiredly at them. "Please, be seated. I have copied out the spell for you both to consider.

From his corner perch, Fawkes gave a sudden squawk and flew across to alight on Dumbledore's shoulder. "Hello, my friend," said the Headmaster, stroking its head almost absently. "Have you come to lend a little strength?"

The phoenix nuzzled Dumbledore affectionately and, indeed, he seemed to become more alert and less like a tired old man. McGonagall was shocked to realise that she had never before seen him as such. This business with Anders had really quite upset him. On impulse, she reached across and patted his arm.

"This spell, Headmaster," said Snape, scrutinising the piece of parchment carefully. "It is so old that the language has almost been forgotten." Indeed, instead of words, the spell had been written in large runes.

"Yes, Severus. The Shadow Summoning spell is almost as ancient as I am." He managed a smile. "I suggest we try the incantation before we carry out the ritual.

"Agreed," said Snape, looking more than a little hesitant. "I haven't seen spells this old since"

McGonagall lowered her eyes at the anguish on Snape's face. He never spoke well about his time as a Death Eater, and this must be terribly hard for him. Unusually, she felt sympathetic towards the Potions Master.

"Just remember, Severus. We are casting this spell to save a soul. If we do not succeed, and our theories are wrong, then we will lose Anders forever - but we will still save his soul. Dark Arts magic it may be - but it is justifiable under the circumstances."

Snape nodded at the Headmaster's words, not raising his head to meet him in the eye.

"Now we practise," said Dumbledore, getting to his feet and pushing open the heavy secret door that led to the ritual chamber.

* * *

It was a full hour before Snape and McGonagall felt comfortable with the arcane spell. The ancient language in which it had been written was guttural and tore at the larynx. But they were both determined to get it right.

Whilst they were reciting the words over and over under their breath, Dumbledore busied himself with chalking the runes that would form the ritual circle. He felt strangely exhilarated. This was real magic, deep magic. Admittedly, dark magic - but there was an odd sense of fulfilment when he finished chalking the last rune.

"We recite the incantation four times," he said. "Then we wait. If Anders' shadow is separate from him, it will have no choice but to respond to the summons. If it is still part of him, then his death will be virtually instantaneous. I just hope" Dumbledore shook his head.

"The real danger is in revealing to Grey that we know his plans, have worked out what he's done. He will seek to kill Anders swiftly. That is what I believe he had planned all along. The death of Olaf Peterssen, the continuing efforts to have the boy sent back to Azkaban - Grey wanted his son gone. But the shadow will tell all."

McGonagall took her place in the ritual circle and was somewhat disturbed to realise that her heart was pounding painfully in her chest. A Gryffindor through and through, Minerva McGonagall had spent most of her life keeping a respectable distance between herself and the Dark Arts. Yet here she was, about to tarnish that record.

_"We are casting this spell to save a soul."_

The Headmaster's words came back to her, but did not serve to help her anxiety. If Anders Grimalkin died because of thisshe had no idea how she would live with the guilt and misery that it would cause her.

As if reading her thoughts, Dumbledore touched her arm, once and smiled. "It will all be well, Minerva. Trust in yourself and we will not fail."

The Headmaster took up his own position and looked up at Snape.

"Are we ready?"

Two heads nodded in acquiescence.

"Then let us begin."

* * *

In a small house in the Welsh Valleys, a tall, lanky figure stared in disbelief as its servant disappeared from existence with an audible 'pop'. 

"So it's happened," murmured Edward Grey. "They know."

* * *

In a cell in Azkaban, Anders Grimalkin's half-lidded eyes snapped open and he ceased his endless counting. He was silent for a few seconds, then began to laugh, a terrible sound that filled the silence of the prison. He knew, with absolute certainty what was going on, and that knowledge was both terrible and wonderful.

"It's happened," he said between laughs. "They succeeded."

* * *

And in Hogwarts Castle of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a shape began to materialise within the carefully chalked ritual circle. As the three powerful mages completed their final incantation, the shape unfurled.

McGonagall recoiled. Seeing a shadow detached from its owner was unnatural, but there was something wrong with this one. Anders was twenty three years old, six feet four - an adult.

The shadow was that of a child.

"Hello, Anders," said Dumbledore, gently. The shadow spun in his direction and managed, despite having no features, to look frightened. "It's alright, my boy. None of us here seek to harm you."

~ Who you? ~

It was not so much a voice as an echo of a voice. McGonagall felt tears fill her eyes. Anders' shadow had been separated from him so young. No wonder he was such a mixed up young man.

"We are friends, Anders. Do you know what you are?"

~ Servant. ~

"You do not belong to the master who owns you, Anders."

~ I don't? ~ The wonderment of the child was heartrending and even Severus Snape drew his lips together in something that McGonagall read as anger. ~ Who owns me? ~

"Nobody owns, you, my boy. And when we explain to you what we need you to do, you will be returned to your rightful place."

~ No more hurt? ~

Dumbledore closed his eyes in brief pain. "No more hurt, Anders. I promise. No more."

~ Tell me. ~

* * *

Three days passed, swiftly for those on the outside of the prison fortress, but for Anders, they gelled into one long nightmare. In the space of those three days he had withdrawn into his protective shell and had neither slept nor eaten. The guards had looked in on him once or twice and murmured their agreement with Morgan's verdict.

The third day dawned, a spectacular sunrise over the ocean that could be seen from the fortress ramparts. Not that it was appreciated: the Dementors had as much appreciation of beauty as a fish did of a bicycle.

"On your feet, Grimalkin."

Anders uncurled himself from the foetal position he had adopted and stared up at the guard with confusion and completely incomprehension. The guard grabbed his arm and yanked him upright.

Staring straight ahead, wavering slightly, Anders said nothing. 

"You are to face the Two and Twenty," said the judge. 

Still no response. Anders simply stared ahead, that same vacant, despairing expression on his face, until finally he spoke.

"Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" The guard pushed him forward so that he began walking towards the door. 

"The Dementor's Kiss."

"Unfortunately for me, Grimalkin, it doesn't look like you're going to find that out. Not yet, anyway. It seems that old Dumbledore has unearthed something he refers to as 'irrefutable evidence' that will clear your name entirely."

"Irrefutable evidence?"

"Gods, man, are you simple? Yes! Now walk!"

For the first time in the three days since he had been locked into the tiny cell, Anders felt the unfamiliar surge of hope. His uncle had come through. He had a chance.

A sliver of a chance, but even slivers could be rent into gaping tears.  
  
A smile spread across his unshaven, grubby, tearstained face as he walked towards the Chamber.

* * *

"so you see, your Honours," said Albus Dumbledore. "Severus Snape and I have researched this phenomenon fully and the boy's shadow has given us all the proof we need that our theories regarding Anders Grimalkin are true."

The head Wizard of the Council Conclave stared down at the chained prisoner in abject sympathy. "Release him from his bonds," he ordered the guard, who, nodding, moved forward and did so. The head Wizard got up from his seat and moved down to stand by Anders.

"Mr Grimalkin?"

Anders lifted his face to the wizard quizzically.

"Mr Grimalkin, we have a lot to answer for. The wizarding justice system leaves a lot to be desired at the best of times - but this time we have gone too far. We have cruelly stripped you of your career, your dignity and your freedom. We cannot be forgiven for what we have done, but with your cooperation, I believe we can at least bring the true villain in this situation to the justice he deserves."

Anders blinked back the tears. "I am afraid," he said, simply, his voice thick with emotion. "I am not strong. I have never been strong."

"You must be strong now, Anders," said Dumbledore, stepping up to him. "The only way we can deliver justice to Edward Grey is to make him come forward of his own volition. Searching for him is going to be a pointless exercise. He knows now that we have worked out his plans. He will be coming for you, Anders."

The total fear on the boy's face made Dumbledore's blood boil. Edward Grey had abused and mistreated his great nephew for the very last time. Once this plan was put into action, Anders might stand a chance of reintegrating into wizard society with a chance of a normal life. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. Anders turned to look at him.

"He is my father." He said it softly and simply, but the confusion and sorrow that the tone held was shattering.

"He is the man who has wrecked your life, Anders."

"He is my FATHER." Anders repeated the phrase, but with a slightly different inflection. "Why?"

"Nobody can understand that yet, Anders. We will know the truth when we find him. And we will find him. You must trust me on this one."

Anders laughed softly. "I always trusted you, Uncle. Always. That's the one thing that's never changed."  
  
"Then together we will solve this riddle," replied the Headmaster, putting his arm around Anders' shoulder. He looked up at the Head Wizard. " With your permission, sir?"

"Yes, you may leave now, Anders. And - there will be a full inquest into this, believe me. Your name will be cleared. We may not be able to give you back that which you have lost - but let us at least clear the path forward for you."

Anders nodded and shook the man's hand. "Let's go home," he said, wearily.

* * *

"And of course, I fought the demon," drawled Draco Malfoy loudly. "But it was too strong for me."

He had been released from the Hospital Wing the day before and had done nothing but boast about his adventures since his return. Very loudly and very vociferously. 

It was grating on Hermione's nerves as they sat at the breakfast table, listening to Draco droning on about how heroic he had been and how he had known Anders Grimalkin had been a danger to everyone but himself.

She narrowed her eyes and clenched her hand into a fist. If Malfoy didn't shut up soon, she was going to punch his teeth so far down his throat, he'd be using dental floss on the toilet.

The door to the Great Hall opened and Albus Dumbledore entered, followed closely by Professor Grimalkin. He looked tired and ill, but there was a spring in his step that hadn't been there before. Hermione hardly dared believe that her wishes had been answered.

A silence fell over the Great Hall as all eyes followed Anders' progress to the Teacher's Table.

It stretched on for an eternity, but was broken by Draco Malfoy leaping to his feet and pointing an accusing finger at the young DADA teacher.

"He's a criminal! He should be in Azkaban!"

Several Slytherins cheered him in response, but Hermione noticed with satisfaction that some of the others, including Pansy Parkinson shook their heads and bit their lips. Pansy pulled urgently at Draco's arm, whispering something urgently at him, but the boy was infuriated.

"He tried to kill me! You can't tell me that you're going to let him back here after he did that, are you?"

"Sit down, Mr Malfoy," said Snape, getting to his feet. Malfoy stared at his Head of House. 

"I don't believe this! Even you are sticking up for him?"

"Sit DOWN Mr Malfoy!" bellowed the Potions Master. "And forty points from Slytherin House due to your blatant ignorance and disrespect!"

In shock, Draco sat down. Anders glanced across at him and smiled gratefully. Snape looked at him for a few moments, then sat down, not acknowledging the silent thanks.

Dumbledore got to his feet and leaned forward on the table to address the students.

"You have all heard the rumours about our DADA Professor's recentdisappearance," he said. "Well, the rumours are just that. Rumours. Professor Grimalkin put his freedom on the line in order to save you, Mr Malfoy - and the rest of the school besides. That sacrifice has cost him more than any of you can possibly conceive. But the story is not yet ended."

Hermione listened to the Headmaster's words, but her eyes were locked onto Anders. He was a hero, then. She felt oddly proud of him, as though she herself had brought his fighting spirit out. He glanced her way and shared a shy smile with her. She had always believed in him, and maybe in a way that belief had been responsible for him finding his courage when it was needed.

"We need to bring the perpetrator of the crimes for which Professor Grimalkin has been framed to justice," the Headmaster was saying. "And there is only one way we can see of doing that. It is a risky plan, and will involve help from each and every one of you. I will need three volunteers to aid me in putting the plan into action and prove the Professor's innocence. Anybody up for the job?"

Virtually every single hand in the room shot up, apart from Draco Malfoy and some of his more staunch supporters.

Tears came to Anders' eyes at the level of support for him and Dumbledore, glancing over at him, hurried on for fear he might lose control of his emotions. "Very well," he said. "Mr Weasley, Miss Granger - and Miss Parkinson."

Draco sneered at Pansy, but she ignored him.

"The three of you report to my office in half an hour. Anders - I believe you have a class to teach?"

Nodding slowly, Anders got to his feet. That same awed hush fell over the room and he lifted his head proudly and spoke.

"None of you - not one of you will ever understand what this means to me," he said. "But thank you all. I just hope that I don't ever let you down again."

At the Ravenclaw table, Melissa McRobert watched him intently. She would speak to him later, perhaps. He felt her eyes on him and met her gaze clearly and with a newly-discovered confidence that she found just ever so exciting.

Yes. She would speak to him later.

  


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	15. Family Reunion

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there.

email me at Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

Chapter Fourteen: Family Reunion

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The day passed swiftly for some, agonisingly slowly for others. Draco Malfoy spent the whole time trying to convince people to turn their backs on Anders Grimalkin and all that he stood for, but seemed to find that he had little support and even less sympathy.

He gave up, eventually. It appeared that the majority of Hogwarts was backing their DADA Professor one hundred percent.

The DADA Professor himself was still in a state of bemused shock after witnessing the silent display of loyalty in the Great Hall and when he had arrived at Dumbledore's office at the appointed time, his red-rimmed eyes showed that he had most likely been crying somewhere. Dumbledore patted his shoulder gently as he came into the room.

"Now we must discuss the finer points of the plan. Mr Weasley and you are going to have to work together to pull it off effectively, and I have other plans for Miss Granger and Miss Parkinson."

Pansy and Hermione exchanged wary glances. There were many issues at stake here, not least of which was the uncertainty of the house rivalry. They had never seen eye to eye, but now at least, they had found a way to put aside their differences.

Anders nodded. "If it means finding…him, Headmaster, then I will gladly do what it takes." He gave the three students a shy smile and they each gave him an encouraging grin in return. His confidence blossomed.

They discussed the plan for a while, Anders constantly protesting that putting the students at risk was too much. This resulted in Ron finally responded by getting to his feet and yelling at Anders to just appreciate that people DID care about what happened to him. After the shocked silence had passed, Anders grinned broadly at Ron and accepted the plan.

* * *

Afternoon ploughed onwards into evening, as it tends to do in these situations, and before the early summer sun dipped over the horizon, a tall, lanky figure made its way slowly towards the Hogwarts grounds. Behind it, at a respectable distance – or what the figure maintained as a respectable distance, came the shadow of Anders Grimalkin.

"You foolish boy," said Gray, speaking to the shadow but not facing it. "Allowing yourself to be found out."

~Had no choice,~ said the shadow, petulantly. ~Had to respond to summons.~

"What did you tell them?"

~Nothing, Da.~

"The sooner that brat is out of my hair the better. If I make arrangements to have him permanently removed, then the proof of my actions will die along with him."

~Will I die too?~

"Of course, you foolish creature. There are times when I wish you were more substantial so I could knock some sense into you."

~Sorry, Master.~

"Go on ahead. Serve me as you have served me these past years. Gather information and report back to me the current location of my son." He drew his wand and considered it thoughtfully. "This time, no mistake. This time, he dies." He prepared to work the spell that would allow him to view what was going on through the eyes of his servant.

~Yes, Master.~ The shadow seemed dubious, regretful even, but Edward Gray, Death Eater and All-Round Bad Guy did not notice. Anders' shadow blended into the darkness of the night and was gone.

* * *

"Again," urged Dumbledore's voice. Ron and Anders stared at one another and as a unit, rolled their robe sleeves up and pointed their wands.

A joint-effort illusion appeared: an exact double of Anders. Ron provided the look, Anders provided the voice and the actions. This time it seemed to be fairly accurate. Dumbledore had turned down the previous ten efforts as being, amongst other things, too short, too fat, too happy…but this time, he nodded approvingly.

"Quite marvellous," he complimented the pair. "Anders always was good at illusion and it seems our Mr Weasley is additionally gifted."

Pansy and Hermione stood close by, still not quite certain what the point of this exercise was, nor too convinced that their presence was required. Dumbledore seemed to sense their uncertainty and turned to smile at them, a twinkle in his eyes. "This plan is going to rely very heavily on your participation, young ladies. I want you to accompany this illusory Anders into the Forbidden Forest. Don't worry – the REAL Anders and Ron will be right behind you – they need to keep within sight of the illusion to maintain it."

"Why the Forest?" asked Pansy, paling slightly. Hermione nodded slowly. 

"Anders' father is coming for him, isn't he?"

"We…believe so," said Dumbledore. "Edward Gray is an evil man and will stop at nothing, it seems, to rid himself of his son. My plan is not to kill him, but to capture him so we might extract information from him. I surmise that he will put in his appearance in the Forest, along with the other evil creatures. We will create a little scene with the illusory Anders discussing a Defence Against the Dark Arts practical that is scheduled to take place and he has enlisted your help. This makes it seem natural and feasible that he would be in the Forest, and less obvious that it's a trap."

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Right. Let's see if this thing looks the part. Over to you, gentlemen."

There was a pause as the illusory Anders seemed to consider something. Ron had got the man's look, slightly apologetic stoop and slouch off to a tee, and the real Anders noted to himself that he had to make an effort to stand tall.

He smiled to himself. This situation needed lightening. And for once, he was going to do it.

"Miss Granger, detention for not completing your essay properly," said the illusory Anders suddenly, and Ron and Anders exchanged a look.

"That," said Hermione, stiffly, "was not even remotely amusing."

Even Dumbledore tried to hide a smile behind his hand.

* * *

The illusory Professor Grimalkin walked in the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest with Hermione and Pansy at his time. Some distance behind, under the cover of Harry's Invisibility Cloak, came Ron and Anders, concentrating on maintaining the illusion. Periodically, the illusion would shift, losing its solidity and whenever that happened, Ron would poke Anders in the ribs. Without their joint concentration the thing wouldn't work, and the young Professor seemed nervous to the point of hyperactivity.

Anders had the illusion discussing the finer points of Stealth tactics for hunting vampires, a topic they had touched on very, very briefly earlier in the term, but his blue eyes kept darting in every direction but in that of the illusion.

"Professor," hissed Ron. "You have to pay attention."

Anders nodded, his face grim and determined.

"And here you see the common garlic," the illusion was saying. "The perfect vampire repellant."

Anders and Ron exchanged a brief, knowing grin.

Then the grin became an expression of abject horror on the face of Anders.

Edward Gray stood there, leaning up against a tree, looking for all the world as though he had simply been hiking in the woods and had simply stopped to take a rest. Ron stared at the young Professor and with a great effort of will, duplicated the horrified expression.

"Well now. If it isn't my cherished son. Hello, there Anders, how are you?"

"Da…" The voice was Anders, but it did not come from the illusion. Fortunately, perhaps, the clouds had chosen that exact moment to cover the light that filtered in from the moon, and Anders forced himself to focus. "Da…I thought you were…"

"Dead? Oh, no, dear boy, I'm very much alive."

Edward smiled a nasty, cruel smile and pushed himself away from the tree. At six feet six, he was taller than even Professor Grimalkin, and the way he moved was sinewy, snake-like. "Very much more alive than you will be when I have finished with you. And what about these charming young ladies? Aren't you going to introduce me to your little girlfriends?"

"We're not his…" began Hermione, but Pansy, strangely quick on the uptake, put on the most innocent, frightened expression that Hermione could ever remember seeing on her face.

"Oh, please…" she said, her voice wobbling on the verge of tears. "Please don't tell, will you?"

Gray's eyes widened in an expression of approval. "I'm almost proud of you, boy. I never thought you had such nerve in you. Actually, I know **precisely** how much nerve you have in you. I spent long enough hitching a ride in what you loosely refer to as a brain."

"Are you going to hurt us?" said Pansy, in that same, little-girl weak voice. Gray glanced at her momentarily and sighed theatrically. "Ah, dear child, would that I could. But I'm here with a view to achieving only one murder this evening, attractive as though the offer might be…although…"

His eyes roamed over first Pansy and then Hermione and his tongue ran around his lips lasciviously. "Three deaths for the price of one…no, you're right. It's too tempting. But do let me complete my appointed task first. There'll be time enough later."

He held up his wand and pointed it each girl in turn, binding them tightly. They both fell to the ground and it was all Ron could do to hold Anders back from under the cloak. In fact, he was close to bursting out himself, but something told him that now would be a bad idea.

"And now it's down to you and me," said Gray, turning his full attention to the illusion, which Ron hurriedly have draw back in alarm. The more he did this, the easier it was becoming. "Speechless, I see, brat," sneered Gray. "Surely you aren't still afraid of me, a big, grown Professor like yourself."

"I was never afraid of you, Da. Intimidated…yes. Afraid…no. There was more pity than fear. Pity that you felt it necessary to treat me the way you did in order to exercise your authority. Pity that you found it necessary to live as a Muggle in order to conceal your identity."

There were tears shining in the illusions eyes as Ron glanced at Anders and duplicated the expression on his Professor's face perfectly.

"You? Pity ME? That's laughable, brat. You are a weakling. A weak, half-blood fool with no intelligence and less courage. Even your shadow has more courage than you."

"Where is my shadow?"

"You'll see it soon enough," said Gray, that same sneer on his thin lips. "It is running an errand for me. That's why I took it, you know. To use as my assistant. And all the time you were maintaining your pathetic illusion, I was able to slide easily into your mind and watch the world around you through your eyes. All these years, brat, I have been with you through everything you've done. Apart from when you were in Azkaban."

The illusion shuddered involuntarily.

"The fortresses defences did not allow me to penetrate through to you. It was most peaceful not having to live through your constant misery and self-pity. But, alas, Azkaban was the only option after my attempt to get rid of you failed so dismally."

"The…accident."

"It was no accident, brat. It served a dual purpose. Peterssen was a Death Eater gone over to the Other Side. It was my job to ensure he was punished, and what a glorious ending it was. Of course, if you had died too…that would have been even better."

"But why? Why do you want rid of me?"

"Because you're a thorn in my side," spat the man, moving closer to the illusion, which took another step back. "Whilst you were in Azkaban, I realised just how peaceful life is without you in my head. I determined to get you sent back there, or to get yourself killed. Either would have suited."

"Why didn't you just break the link, then? Come to that, why did you establish it in the first place?"

"I was expelled from Hogwarts," said Gray. "I needed a way to learn what I had lost. And by the time you were eleven, your mother had molly-coddled you so much, you were more pliable than I could have wished. I rode in your mind that very first day…"

"That's why I ended up in Slytherin."

"Of course! The Sorting Hat was torn for so long between what it KNEW you were, the weakling Gryffindor, and where you needed to be. But I won that battle, didn't I, brat?"

"I could have shared the knowledge with you."

"Pah! Left to your own devices, you'd do little more than be a street illusionist. All the **real** stuff you ever learned is mine, Anders. Not yours."

"So break the link. You go your way and leave me to go mind."

"Break the link. You make it sound, oh-so-very simple, Anders. Sadly, there is only one way that can be achieved. Either by getting you sent back to Azkaban – and you even failed spectacularly at THAT…or…are you understanding me here? Or am I going to have to paint a picture for you?"

Gray took a step towards the illusion and reached out as though he would grab it by the robes.

At that moment, there was a snap of a twig, that took the attention of not only Gray, but also Ron, who momentarily lost his concentration. Fortunately for him, the illusion disappeared for only the briefest of moments before he pulled himself back to attention.

He turned to give Anders an apologetic stare.

But the Professor was no longer under the Invisibility Cloak with him.

"No…"

Ron's eyes turned towards the two men standing in the clearing in the Forest. Edward Gray turned back to…

…Professor Grimalkin. 

Cursing silently at the man's foolish…courageousness, Ron drew himself down as low as he could, clutching the Cloak tightly around himself. To re-establish the illusion now would be total folly, and he might be Ron Weasley – but he had more than two braincells to rub together.

He cast a quick glance at Hermione and Pansy, but other than looking uncomfortable and a little scared, they did not seem to be in any immediate danger.

His concern was with the young man now standing proud and erect before the evil that was Edward Gray. There was a fierce kind of expression in Professor Grimalkin's eyes that sent shivers racing down Ron's spine, the kind of expression he'd seen all too often on the face of Harry whenever he'd been opposed with such overwhelming odds.

The thought occurred, rather wildly, to Ron that at least Harry had had a break from being hounded this term.

"You going to resort to violence again, Da? You always do that when you're losing. And you ARE losing. It's there in your eyes, see." This time, Anders took a step towards his father, who simply stood his ground, scorn oozing from every pore.

"You foolish child," he said, in a low, dangerous voice that Anders recognised only too well. The years of misery, the years of physical abuse he'd taken from this man flashed before his eyes in an instant. The time Gray had locked him in the under-stairs cupboard for daring to ask if any money could be spared to buy a new robe for school. The time he'd pinned Anders up against the wall and half-throttled the life out of him. Anders met his father's stare with a defiant look of his own.

"No wonder Mam hated you so much," he said, bitterly. "You must have put her through hell over the years."

"You are too much like her. Weak. Muggle-born fool that she was. How easily she was convinced. When I found her, scared and fearful of being disowned by those she called family just because of her condition…how easily she came round to my way of thinking. I even convinced her in the end that you WERE my son. Still, when she died, it was HIS name on her lips. Yes, she suffered, but it was all her own fault for being weak and easily manipulated. That she produced you at the time my plan came to fruition was perfect. Of course, eventually she simply became an irritant."

Anders felt the world tilt and steadied himself, fearful for a moment that he was going to faint. "You killed her, didn't you?"

"Of course. It was the only way to stop her. She had become suspicious."

Anders shook his head. He felt physically, violently sick. "You bastard."

He took a swing at his father, but misjudged the distance and the blow missed Gray by several inches. The other man laughed nastily.

"You have been an entertaining puppet all these years, Anders," said Gray, swinging his wand idly between his fingers. "And look! Speaking of puppets…"

Ron's eyes turned in the direction the man's wand was pointed, to see the small figure of Anders' child-shadow entering the clearing. His jaw dropped.

Anders stared at it, and it seemed to stare back at him, taking a few hesitant steps towards him. Gray pointed his wand at the shadow. "Not so close, my little friend."

~Mine~ said the shadow, pointing at Anders. ~My human. Mine. Want.~

"You can't have. Never mind, little friend. You'll soon be as non-existent as him."

This time, Anders' blow connected, and Gray, winded, let the wand fly from his hand, and it landed several feet away, just in front of Ron's feet. As quietly as he could manage, Ron shuffled back, away from it.

"Fetch it, slave," said Gray, in a bored kind of way, rubbing his jaw where Anders had hit him. The shadow stared up and scurried across to the wand. Ron stared at it in abject disbelief and it _looked right at him_.

~Is working~ it said, in his mind, and then pushed the wand under the Invisibility Cloak.

Turning, it scurried again towards Gray and handed him a wand.

Ron let out his breath, barely noticing that he'd stopped breathing in the first place. The shadow looked again at Anders, who was staring at it, stunned. So busy was he paying attention to it and not to Gray, that when the blow to the side of his face came, he hardly seemed to notice it.

Hermione and Pansy's eyes had widened in shock and horror at the turn of events, and now as Gray landed blow after blow upon Anders and their Professor sank to the ground, they began to wriggle against their bonds.

"I'm bored with this now," said Gray, suddenly, raising his hand to deliver another blow to the bleeding young man in front of him. "Let's get this over wit…"

The blur of something large and black suddenly shot out of the bushes and knocked Gray over sideways. Anders sat up, shaking his head to clear his ears which were ringing. There was blood pouring from his nose, from multiple wounds on his face and his eyes were refusing to focus properly.

The huge black dog growled at Gray who got slowly to his feet.

"Oh, really," he said, angrily. "I do NOT have time for such foolishness."

Ron was ripped between staring at what had happened to Anders and what he was fairly certain was Sirius Black.

Gray raised the wand and pointed it at the dog.

"Avada…"

Anders got to his feet unsteadily and stared hazily at his father. "No…"

"Kad…"

"I said, NO!"

"…avera!"

Anders hurled himself towards the dog, placing himself between his father and the intended target of the Killing Curse. 

(c) S Watkins, 2001 


	16. Consequences

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there.

email me at Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Fifteen**: Consequences

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

For long, long moments, nothing seemed to happen.

The flash of green light forced Ron, Hermione and Pansy to close their eyes in horror, and the great dog lifted its head and howled, anguish and despair evident in the chilling sound.

Then there was a silence.

A prolonged, drawn out silence that was truly terrifying in its intensity.

Finally, Ron forced himself to open his eyes, afraid of what he was going to see. But he had to know what had happened to Professor Grimalkin and the dog. He prised his eyelids apart and took in the scene before him.

Both Grimalkin and Gray were laying on the ground, with the dog stood between them, standing over Grimalkin's body as though he were guarding it. Ron hauled off the Invisibility Cloak and trusting that the dog was, indeed, Sirius Black, turned his attentions to Pansy and Hermione, freeing them from their bonds.

"Are you alright?" he asked, tersely.

"I think so," said Hermione glancing at Pansy, whose eyes were riveted on the dog in horror. "Ron, is that dog…?" She left the question hanging, not wanting to give away Sirius' identity in front of a Slytherin.

Ron shrugged carefully. "Pansy, we need to find Professor Dumbledore. Will you go get him?" Hermione's eyes widened at Ron's uncharacteristic display of tact and quick thinking.

The girl nodded, her eyes still fixed on the dog. "Is it dangerous?" she whispered.

"I don't think so. Fetch Dumbledore. As quick as you can."

She nodded again, and sprinted off in the direction of the castle.

Hermione looked confused and in her own inimitable style needed answers. "But isn't that your illusion? Where's Professor Grimalkin?"

"We need to find out something else first. We need to be sure." He stood in front of her, almost protectively, and she found herself surprised at not actually minding so very much. Ron raised his head boldly and pointed Edward Gray's wand at the dog. "Sirius? Is that you?"

The dog turned its shaggy head towards him, and with a shimmer of magic morphed into the figure of Harry's godfather.

"Hello, Ron," he said, his voice calm but choked with emotion. Then he turned and looked at the dead wizard, and at the body of Anders Grimalkin lying on the ground. "He saved my life," said Sirius, softly. "That curse was aimed at me."

Hermione sagged against Ron. Whilst she knew that neither she nor Pansy had contributed much to the actual plan, she had still been caught up in the intensity of the situation. She blinked away the tears that had sprung to her eyes and slid her hand into Ron's. He squeezed her hand gently and gave her a shaky smile.

Sirius looked well and healthier than when they'd seen him last, but there was a strange manner to his bearing, defensive and slightly uncertain that she'd never dreamed that the ultra-cool Sirius Black could display. She sought to reassure him.

"It's alright, Sirius," she said. "That was just an illusion. And it was incredible, Ron," said Hermione, proudly. "It was so much like Professor Gr…" Ron shook his head numbly.

"That _was _him," he said, quietly. "It _was_ the real Professor Grimalkin."

She stared at him in disbelief. Ron clenched his hands into fists and squeezed back tears of anger and grief. "Do you remember when the illusion briefly disappeared and became solid again? That was him. He broke the link and whilst Gray was distracted, stepped out from under the Cloak to take its place."

"So it was him who took that beating, and not the illusion?" Hermione was horrified, but then the full realisation of just why Anders had done such a crazy thing filtered into her mind, backed up by a soft voice.

"He had no choice," said Sirius quietly. "If Gray had tried to touch the illusion, he would have discovered it was not real, and the plan would have been discovered." 

"And is he…" she whispered, looking up at Sirius, afraid to voice the fear that was in her heart. Sirius shook his head. 

"He's just unconscious. He's hurt, and he'll have a mighty headache when he comes round, but he's alive. He did a stupid thing. A brave, selfless thing, but damned stupid all the same."

"But…Gray cast the Killing Curse! He can't have survived it," said Harry, quietly, in disbelief. "Mad-Eye told us last year that nobody could repel that curse."

"It was because of his shadow," came a voice from behind them. Albus Dumbledore stood there, Anders' shadow, that had been forgotten in the thick of the excitement on his left, Harry standing on his right. The child-sized silhouette let out a cry of anguish and rushed to the fallen body of Anders Grimalkin.

~Make better.~

"Don't worry. He will recover, little one," soothed Dumbledore in a gentle voice. "You have done well." The Headmaster looked up again. "The shadow acted on my instructions and swapped Gray's wand for a boobytrapped one. Gray did indeed cast the Killing Curse. However, it backfired. Unfortunately, Anders did have to take some of the effects of that, but it is nothing major. Nothing that can't be healed."

He stared down at the corpse of Edward Gray and a grim expression crossed his face. "He killed himself with his own spell. That is what I believe is a prime example of **true** justice."

Sirius nodded, and Harry stared from him to Anders, realising that both of them knew exactly how justice could so easily be perverted. "What is your involvement with this, Sirius?" asked Harry suddenly, completely confused as to why his godfather had put in an appearance. "Why are you here?"

Dumbledore and Sirius exchanged awkward glances, and then Sirius nodded once, his eyes lowered and not raising his head to meet the enquiring glance of his godson.

"Sirius came here at my request," said Dumbledore. "When he learned of the full extent and the truth behind Anders' betrayal, he felt the time had come to put the past where it belongs." He looked at Sirius again. "In the past."

"Anders isn't my great-nephew at all," continued Dumbledore, quietly. "A cover had to be put in place to protect the innocent in all of this." He smiled, slightly. "Imagine my surprise when my research of young Grimalkin's family tree revealed to me that he was, indeed, related to a famous wizard. One whose life has run almost parallel to that of his own child's."

There was a long, silence, and then Harry got to his feet and crossed to his godfather. He put a hand on the man's arm.

"How long have you known, Sirius?" asked Harry, quietly.

"About Anders being my son?" Sirius looked at the unconscious man unhappily. "Most of his life. But Astrid…his mother…was very young…" He blushed slightly. "So was I, really – not long turned sixteen. But that was all about my own foolishness and is, quite frankly, none of your business."

Sirius rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Anyway, when I left to come back to school, I didn't know she was pregnant. I tried to track her down, of course, after I left school. It was then I found out about Anders. I did some research into the matter, and briefly met up with Astrid again. She admitted that Anders was my son. But she was determined that she could make things work with this Grimalkin man. She believed him to be a Muggle, and after she had to let me go a second time to fight against Voldemort…she didn't want any part of the wizarding world that had taken her lover from her."

Burying his head briefly in his hands, Sirius hesitated. "I loved Anders' mother very much. Had it not been for circumstances…I probably would have married her. I don't know why she chose Dafydd Grimalkin…Edward Gray. Maybe he reminded her of me. There's a physical similarity, but that's all I can see. Anders is twenty three years old. Twenty three years we've been apart."

He looked up and moved across to where Anders lay, blood trickling from the wounds on his face and from his nose, and crouched down beside him. In such proximity, and with the shock revelation fresh in the air, everyone could finally see the resemblance between father and son, right down to the way that bright tears stood in Sirius' eyes as they often did in those of his only child.

"I couldn't hide in the bushes any longer and watch _him_ hurt my son any more. So instead of waiting for the plan to reach its natural conclusion, I tried to intervene. I was foolish. I could have died. But Anders wouldn't let Gray kill me." With a whispered spell, he closed the wound in Anders' head and wiped the blood away gently. "I think it might be too late to reconcile the differences," he said, softly to Dumbledore.

"Sirius, old friend. When have you ever known defeat?"

The presence of Ron, Hermione and Harry – even the little lost shadow – seemed to be forgotten as the two men spoke, Dumbledore carefully cutting through the layers of anguish that Sirius was building around himself in preparation of the rejection he felt he was going to get from Anders.

"It isn't a question of defeat, Albus," said Sirius, heavily, getting to his feet and crossing to the headmaster. "Look at him. The hardships he's known…wouldn't YOU be angry if you knew that someone could have taken you away from it all? That your life could have been so much easier?"

"Sirius – you were in Azkaban for so much of his life. What could you have done, truly? What could you have done then that you haven't done today? In killing Edward Gray…" He carefully avoided Sirius' eyes, "you have rid the world of one of the darkest wizards, and given this young man – and his shadow…" Dumbledore turned to the shadow who whimpered softly and tried to hide in the bigger shadow cast by Ron and Hermione who stood huddled closely together. "You have given them hope for a brighter future." 

Dumbledore considered Sirius for a long time. "Anders has grown into a fine, strongly principled man, even with the burden of this evil wizard on his shoulders. He is honourable, he is eloquent and artistic, and he has proved his bravery. Don't regret what is past, Sirius. You know and I know you cannot change it. Accept things the way they are and look forward to the rest of your lives."

"Professor," said Hermione softly. Anders was beginning to stir, his blue eyes fluttering open. The Headmaster nodded. "Students return to the school, please. Miss Granger, would you send Madam Pomfrey out here? She has been briefed and is prepared for treating our good DADA Professor. And all of you – thank you for your help in delivering justice."

Harry, who was still a little shaken from the events of the afternoon, not to mention the recently departed presence of the Dementor, nodded and ushered the others out of the clearing and through the forest towards the castle. Sirius gave him one, tight-lipped smile, and Harry nodded in understanding. For once, Sirius didn't have the answers. This sudden insight into his godfather as anything other than a fount of all knowledge was earth shattering.

The little shadow cringed into the shade of the trees, but stayed close.

"Headmaster…" Anders tried to sit up, but Dumbledore knelt down and pushed him gently down. "Rest easy, my boy. Madam Pomfrey will be along directly, and you've had a bit of a rough evening."

The young man's eyes focused on the Headmaster and he managed a lop-sided smile. "I did it, though," he said, proudly. "I finally stood up to him, didn't I?"

"Yes, Anders. You stood up to him. He can't hurt you any more. Well done. You deserve to feel proud of yourself." Dumbledore patted him gently on the shoulder and sat back on his heels. Sirius helped him up, and Anders' eyes glanced upwards and furrowed in concern.

"The dog…where did the dog go?"

"That was me," said Sirius, almost bashfully.

"I saw you…before…the flash…didn't I? You tried to knock me out of the way…" Anders winced as a jarring pain shot through his head and he shook it to try and clear it. "You were the dog?"

Sirius nodded, unable to speak. Dumbledore glanced up. "I must go and see where Madam Pomfrey has got to. And you, my little friend…" The last was addressed to the shadow, who crept out into the open nervously. "We have to find a way to get you back with he to whom you belong. Come along with me."

The shadow looked up at Dumbledore in awe, and went to follow him from the clearing, but before it left, it crossed swiftly to Anders and threw its shadowy arms around him in an unfelt hug. ~ Soon,~ it promised.

Only Anders and Sirius remained in the clearing.

"So who are you?" said Anders, trying again to sit up and regretting it instantly. "I apparently owe you my life, so the least you could do is tell me who you are."

Sirius looked down at his son and sighed deeply. Dumbledore was right. At the very basic level, he owed it to Anders to give the boy a chance at a brighter future. And that meant no more lies, no more deceit.

"Who am I?" he said, finally, kneeling down and, slipping an arm around his son's shoulders, helping him to sit. "Well, Anders, that's a long story."

And he told it.

* * *

The following afternoon, Harry headed up to the Hospital Wing to visit Anders. He had something he both had and wanted to do.

Anders had been brought, shell-shocked, back to the castle, assisted by the man he'd just found out was his real father, and was an escaped convict to boot. Yet oddly, he felt no anger or resentment at the truth. Just a quiet regret that had haunted his sleep that night.

As a consequence, when Harry entered, he was sitting up in bed, pale and tired-looking, but with a rare look of tranquillity on his usually troubled face. Sirius was sitting beside him, chattering away in an animated fashion. From time to time, Anders would smile, and Harry knew without any hesitation that Anders was hearing stories of the Marauders. He tipped his head to one side and found himself marvelling at the resemblance. Anders was as like to Sirius as he was to his own dead father.

He coughed, to make the two men aware of his presence.

"Harry!" Sirius jumped up and crossed over to him. "I was just telling Anders all about that episode in the Shrieking Shack, do you remember?"

"Sirius, do you **really** think I could forget?" said Harry, mock-sternly, a smile on his face. Then he lowered his voice so only Sirius could hear, and the man nodded, turning to bestow a warm smile on his son. 

"I'll be back again later, Anders. I HAVE to tell you about the Marauders Map…oh, and the time Moony nearly killed Snape…and when Peter tried to ask Lily to the dance…"

And Harry ushered him out of the room, still babbling on. As he shut the door firmly behind his godfather, he couldn't help but smile. Then he turned back to the DADA Professor.

"Professor Grimalkin…"

"Call me Anders," said the young man. "I gave my resignation this morning. I was never really a proper Professor anyway. It was just a title that went with the job as far as I was concerned."

Harry tried saying the name a few times, uncomfortable at first with the concept of addressing a teacher – ex or not – by his first name, but then found that the young man's name came easily to his lips. After all, with Sirius being his godfather, it was almost like discovering he had an older brother.

"Anders, Professor Dumbledore asked me to deliver this to you personally." He took a rolled scroll out of his robe pocket and handed it across to Anders. The man took the scroll but did not open it. He gave Harry an uncertain smile.

"I am sorry to have been such a disappointment to you this year," he said. "For a while there, I really believed that I'd be the one to break the famous Curse of the DADA Position."

"Don't apologise," said Harry. "You taught me a lot, Pr…Anders. It's strange, but for the past few years, I really started to believe that events at Hogwarts seemed to revolve around me. But what happened with you and…with that Gray person…made me start to realise that it's not so. I mean…I hate the Dursleys, I couldn't claim otherwise. But…when I think about what you had to go through with someone who hated you so much he was prepared to simply kill you…" Harry shook his head. "All of a sudden, the Dursleys didn't seem so very bad after all. I might even find it in me to be civil to them this summer."

Anders smiled, and unrolled the scroll, which he read wordlessly. Then he put it down on the bed. His expression was totally unreadable.

"There's more," said Harry. He knew what the letter contained, because Dumbledore had shown him. But this bit…was all his own doing. He got to his feet and crossed to the door. Opening it, he turned back towards Anders.

"They've given me my licence back," blurted Anders, suddenly overcome with emotion. "I can fly again. Legally."

"I know," said Harry, softly. Then he raised his wand. "_Accio Firebolt!_"

Anders stared in confusion as Harry's broom flew into the Hospital Wing, much to the continuing annoyance of Madam Pomfrey. All she wanted was to run a ship-shape, peaceful Hospital Wing and even that was proving to be impossible.

Harry took the Firebolt in his hand and considered it thoughtfully. "This was the most important thing in the world to me up until yesterday," he said, softly. "But now…"

He held it out to Anders.

"Now I realise that no matter how badly off you might think you are, somewhere there's someone who's worse off. Someone who needs to know he's got friends. Someone who saved the life of my father's best friend. It's yours. I can easily get another one. And like it says in 'Broomsticks for Beginners'…it's not the broom that makes a successful flyer, anyway."

Anders' fingers closed around the Firebolt and he stared up at Harry. "Thank you," he said, finally, after what was apparently a long inner struggle with himself. "Thank you very much."

"No problem," said Harry, awkwardly. "Should I send Sirius back up?"

Anders shook his head. "Not just yet. I think I might have a little rest now…if that's OK, Harry? Would you tell him for me?"

"Sure. You take it easy."

Harry left the Hospital Wing feeling strangely proud of himself.

Left alone, Anders admired the Firebolt for long minutes. Even when Madam Pomfrey came around to check him out and dress his wounds, he did not let go of it. And finally, he drifted off into a deep, restful, healing sleep, his fingers wrapped around the broom.

* * *

Before the day was out, Anders had yet another visitor who brought yet another surprise for him.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Anders sat up, his pale cheeks suffused with the first hints of a return to a healthy colour. He gave the Headmaster an uncertain smile. "You haven't come to ask me to reconsider my resignation, have you? Because I can't do that…"

"Not at all, my boy. There is something I think that we need to settle." He held up his arm and Anders followed the line along to the object in Dumbledore's hand.

The Sorting Hat.

"If you ever had any doubts, Anders, now is the time to put them to rest," said the Headmaster, sitting down on the bed. "The Hat, as you know, never makes mistakes. But when you were Sorted, it did not Sort you, but Edward Gray. So therefore…"

He held out the Sorting Hat, but Anders put his hand to stop him. "This isn't necessary, Professor. Maybe I don't really want to know the truth."

"You might not," said the Headmaster, gently pushing Anders' hand away. "But I know I do."

The Hat seemed startled, Anders said, afterwards. "This isn't a student," it said in his ear. "But I've never seen this mind before. Seen one very much like it – oh, so many years ago. And I've touched a mind that was mixed with one like this. I never forget a mind, you know," it added, almost proudly. 

Anders held his breath.

The Hat seemed to consider for quite a while. "Gryffindor!" it announced to Dumbledore, who thanked it politely and removed it from Anders' head.

"Do you still doubt who you are?"

Anders shook his head, numbly.

"No, Professor," he said, softly. "I think for the very first time in my life, I know who I really am – and do you know what the most important thing of all is?" Anders glanced at the end of the bed, where cards and gifts from well-wishers festooned the covers. Cards from Gryffindor. Cards from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. And cards from Slytherin.

"What's really important," he said, "is that no matter where you come from, no matter how much you think you can't change that…when you're called upon to defend what you believe in…you can work with anyone."

"Well now," said Dumbledore, cheerfully. "Fancy you figuring that one out all by yourself!" He got to his feet and picked up the Hat. "There's one last visitor who would like to see you if you feel up to it, Anders?"

The Headmaster shifted slightly to see Melissa standing in the doorway, a shy smile on her face. Anders smiled back."

"I think I can manage a few moments, Headmaster," he said, softly. 


	17. New Beginnings

Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there.

email me at Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net

**Shadow of a Doubt**

**Chapter Sixteen**: New Beginnings

**Author's Explanation**: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The term rolled swiftly towards its end, with concentration finally allowed to shift from the excitement of Anders Grimalkin to that of OWLs. For the first time in her life, Hermione seemed to crack under the strain of the studying, and discovered that Ron possessed a new-found air of dignity and support. They had been spending a lot of time in each other's company, actually, just as Harry and Ginny had apparently been doing something similar.

Hermione mused on this as she sat now in the last Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term. Despite handing in his resignation, Anders had fulfilled his obligation to complete the year.

Currently, he was engaged in discussion with Neville Longbottom.

"Come on…you DID promise, sir," said Neville, with a hint of a whine in his voice. Anders smiled at him and theatrically rolled his eyes. 

"Oh, alright then. As it's the last lesson of the term, and because you've all handed in such good papers…"

Waving his wand, he conjured up the now-famous illusion of Neville Longbottom fighting the fire demon. The plump boy puffed up with pride and watched the scene unfold with untold pleasure on his face that gave Anders a warm feeling from top to bottom.

When the illusion, and the consequent applause died into nothing, Anders glanced around at the class. He'd just taken in the last paper from the Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL examination, and a perfunctory glance through had told him that not a single student had failed.

Not in Gryffindor, anyway.

"You are all aware," he said, his voice soft and making no attempt to cover the emotion he felt at the subject, "that I will not be returning to teach you next year. However, it will be my absolute pleasure to pass on the records of those of you who remain for your NEWTs to the new teacher. You are all exceptional young people…" His eyes passed briefly over Hermione, Ron and Harry as he said this, and he smiled. "And you all deserve the wonderful grades I am sure you are going to get."

Parvati Patil raised her hand. "Sir, are the rumours true?"

"Which ones, Parvati? I've heard at least seven since I came back to class."

"The one…about your new job. Are you really going back to professional Quidditch?"

There was an excited murmur which rippled through the class like a wave. Many things had been whispered about Anders Grimalkin's future, and this was the one that had fired their imaginations the most.

Anders exchanged a glance with Harry, who winked at him and shrugged helplessly. "Yes," he said, eventually. "The Welsh team – AND the Swedish team have approached me with offers. And I think I'm going to take the option to go to Sweden."

His eyes settled on Ron, who looked mildly disappointed. "That's just for internationals, of course," he said, softly. "Some of you might be interested to know that just this morning, I accepted an offer to play league with the Chudley Cannons."

The expression on Ron's face was worth more wealth than Anders could ever have imagined, and that included the rather handsome sum he'd received as compensation from the Ministry of Magic.

It was thus lost in his own thoughts, therefore, that he didn't notice the enthusiastic cheering and clapping until half the class were on top of him, thumping him on the back.

* * *

He sat outside later that day, by the lake, watching the giant squid surface and bask in the sun for a few moments before disappearing to the depths of the water. He became aware he had company when a soft voice from behind him spoke his name quietly.

"Hello," he said, inviting the newcomer to take a seat next to him. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said. 

A pause.

"How are…you?"

"I'm very much better than I was, Pansy. Thank you." He took a long draw on the cigarette he was smoking before addressing her.

"I was glad your transfer came through. When do you start at Beauxbatons?"

"At the beginning of the new term. I just…thought it was best." There was no bitterness in Pansy's tone, only the same change of attitude that now so marked Anders. The attitude of one who has finally truly discovered who they are.

She drew circles in the dust with her finger. "I realised that just because I had been Sorted to Slytherin House, didn't mean that I had to be like…them. I just followed them at the time because it was the easy option. Slytherin is about ambition – not about sheer bloody-minded nastiness." She smiled, a little sadly. "They call me the 'Gryffindor Groupy' now."

"Let them call you what they like," said Anders, defensively. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you risked on my behalf. And if it'll make you feel any better, Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy came last in their DADA exams. Too much time plotting and not enough time studying."

They shared a grin and Pansy got up to leave. Anders smiled up at her. "If I don't get another chance to speak to you before the end of term…" He didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

* * *

"Hello, Ron."

He had been studying in the library, much to the surprise of everyone, including himself. At her approach, however, he put down his book and smiled.

"Fancy meeting you in here."

"You aren't the only Weasley who likes to actually do some work from time to time," admonished Ginny, sitting down by her brother. "How have you been? It feels like such a long time since we had a chance to chat."

"I've been doing brilliantly, Ginny. And from what I've seen of you and Harry lately…" Ginny blushed furiously and smiled at her older brother. 

"Only the same as you and Hermione," she said, sibling rivalry kicking in.

They spoke together in low voices for a while, Ron suddenly having discovered how nice it was to have a younger sister to confide such intimacies in, and she likewise discovering for the first time that Ron had a use beyond being blamed for some catastrophe in the Weasley household.

Finally, Ginny revealed her true reason for seeking him out. "I heard about what you did for Professor Grimalkin," she said. "I just wanted to say…well…how proud I am of you. I knew you were the best brother a girl could ever want…well, alright, with the exception of Bill, perhaps, but…I just felt you should know that every girl in Gryffindor thinks that you're the coolest."

She pecked him on the cheek and left the library.

Ron puffed up so much with pride that when Hermione came in a few moments later she had to double-take, thinking that Ron had left and been replaced by Percy in full Head-Boy mode.

* * *

"Professor. I trust this is not an inappropriate time to disturb you?"

Anders glanced up at the entrance into the DADA classroom and put down his quill. "Professor Snape. No…uh…not at all. Take a seat."

Snape sat down with a surprising amount of quiet dignity, his eyes fixed on the young man he'd so distrusted all these years. Anders looked back at him, almost shyly. 

"I owe you an apology, Grimalkin," he said, eventually. "I may not like you very much for reasons of my own, but I feel it only fair to explain to you that I was always a part of Dumbledore's plan to reveal your father for who – and what – he was." Anders winced to himself. It was evident that Snape was **not** privy to the information regarding Sirius Black – but then, after the tales Sirius had happily been telling him of the exploits of the Marauders…this was probably an entirely good thing.

"It's alright, Professor," said Anders, carefully assessing his words before he spoke. "I guess there's just a part of me that wishes I could have my life over again. We might not have got on any better…but I also might not have flunked my Potions final."

The faintest hint of a smile twitched Snape's mouth upwards. "You would have failed anyway. I still have that paper in my drawer as one of the most badly written – and I'm NOT just talking about that dead spider handwriting of yours, Grimalkin – and poorly researched papers that have ever crossed my desk. And you should consider that flattery. I burn most of the others. Yours, however…makes me laugh."

Anders couldn't help grinning at the thought of Snape actually **laughing**, something he found virtually inconceivable.

Snape got to his feet. "You may or may not have heard the news," he said, "but Dumbledore has yet again denied me the opportunity to apply for your job."

Anders nodded. "I know," he said, his voice full of sympathy. "I think you should know that I actually recommended you."

Snape's sloe eyes glittered and there was a long pause. "I know."

Anders smiled at him, nervously.

"Goodbye, Grimalkin." Snape hesitated as though he would add something else, then shook his head and left the room.

"See you, Slimeball," murmured Anders affectionately, feeling a strange pang of sadness at the farewell.

Sometimes it was even difficult to say goodbye to your enemies.

* * *

The Feast that night was a particularly happy affair for everyone, even Anders, who kept finding himself filling up with tears. After one close call when Professor Vector had said how much he'd be missed and had patted him almost affectionately on the arm, Anders finally got control of his emotions and let himself relax.

Draco Malfoy shot him occasional dark looks, but even they could not detract from the light feeling in his heart. Yes, he was sad to be leaving. He'd become quite attached to Hogwarts again. But he felt he'd learned more as a teacher than he'd ever learned as a student.

And he'd gained a father, to boot.

Sirius wasn't present at the Feast for obvious reasons, and Anders actually found himself missing the constant chatter of his father's clumsy attempts to win Anders over with sheer force of personality. He didn't need to. Anders had felt immediately drawn to the man, their relationship notwithstanding. There were too many similarities, too much they had in common for Anders not to feel the need to further the relationship.

He pulled himself back to the present, where Dumbledore was announcing the House Points for the year. It seemed that, yet again, Slytherin and Gryffindor tied for first place, but this time, there was no attempt to award last minute points to either house. For once, the equality was let alone. The decorations switched to half green, half red, and the evening continued.

He disappeared outside, halfway through the evening and stood alone on the steps, the slight summer breeze catching his loose hair and lifting it until it fell into his eyes. He reached to push it out of the way, but felt a gentle touch do it for him.

"Walk with me?" said Melissa, softly.

* * *

The morning dawned sunshine bright and perfect for the journey home. Hermione shoved the last of her books into her trunk and mooched down to breakfast, feeling the impending loss of Professor Grimalkin keenly. He was sat up at the teacher's table, chatting to Professor Flitwick, and with a strangely familiar expression on his face. Hermione slowed down as she neared him and examined him closely. Yes…she knew that expression.

Professor Grimalkin was in love.

She felt a mixture of happiness and jealousy at this and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes irritably as she sat down next to Ron, who gave her a noisy kiss on the cheek. "Did you see who Professor Grimalkin was outside with last night?"

Startled, she wondered if Ron was reading her thoughts, and she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Who?"

"Melissa McRobert. Y'know. The seventh year Ravenclaw that Seamus Finnigan fancies?"

Seamus, who was sitting opposite them, threw a bread roll at Ron, who retaliated with a cheerful spoonful of marmalade.

"Melissa? Really?" Hermione turned to catch a glimpse of the girl sat at the far end of the Ravenclaw table, that same dreamy-eyed expression on her face that was so obvious on the face of Anders. "That's…nice. I hope they'll get together. She's officially graduated now, and he's no longer teaching…"

She was more than glad. For a while, she'd harboured an uncertain fear that Anders might try to track down his old girlfriend, Charis, and patch things up. This at least put paid to that fear.

"S'funny," said Ron, nimbly ducking to avoid a sausage that Seamus had flipped at him. "I spent all year thinking that YOU were going to end up falling for him." Hermione sat bolt upright, a hot flush creeping onto her face.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, come on! You fancy him like mad, don't you?" He threw a piece of toast like a Frisbee towards Seamus.

"Ron! I do not!" She sagged and smiled sadly. "Well…alright. Just a little. But I would never have acted on it. He's too old for me. There's someone a whole lot closer to my own age that I've already decided to ask to come visit over the holidays."

"Really? Who?"

"Oh, Ron Weasley…" Hermione took Ron's freckled face in her hands and went to kiss him at the exact same point Seamus decided to throw a full plate of scrambled eggs at Ron.

"Sorry, Hermione…"

* * *

With breakfast out of the way, it was time to head out to catch the train back down to King's Cross. Hermione had tried to catch Anders on his own for a few moments, but the young teacher had been surrounded by well-wishers and she'd not been able to catch him. As she walked down the platform, arm-in-arm with Ron, and with Harry close behind, she felt particular sad that she hadn't been able to say goodbye.

"Harry!"

The voice held the unmistakable Welsh lilt of the man at the foremost of her mind and she and Ron turned to see him running down the platform to catch up with them. "I'm so glad I managed to catch you before you left," he said, breathlessly. He smiled at Ron and Hermione, shyly. "I haven't had a chance to thank any of you properly for all you've done for me this year."

"We're just glad you've found a bit of happiness at last, sir," said Ron, glancing at his friends, who nodded in agreement. "And that you've been reunited with Si…uh…Snuffles."

"Snuffles?"

Harry whispered something in Anders' ear and the young man grinned broadly. "Oh, right. Snuffles. Yes…well, if he doesn't bend my ear off with more stories about James Potter – no offence, Harry - before the end of the day…we might be able to make plans to catch up on a lot of missing years."

He glanced up as the station master starting calling out for all students to board the train. "I guess…this is goodbye, then," he said, rubbing his nose a little sadly. "Well…goodbye, all of you. Good luck with your final two years, and…stay in touch."

He shook Harry and Ron's hand vigorously, and ruffled Ginny's hair, which made her blush under her freckles.

Then he turned to Hermione.

"You believed in me all year long," he said, softly. "And for that, there are no thanks that are enough."

"It was nothing, sir, really," said Hermione, shyly. Harry and Ron had, by now, boarded the train along with Ginny and were off down the corridor, looking for somewhere to sit. Suddenly, impulsively, she flung her arms around him. He blushed furiously, but returned the hug, regardless of the fact Ron and Harry were knocking on the window of the train and laughing.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, softly. "Have a good summer." He suddenly seemed to recall something. "Here – I meant to give this to Ron. Would you pass it on for me? Well, it's for all of you, really, but…well…" He thrust his hand into his pocket and held something out to Hermione, which she took and glanced down at.

A wide smile crossed her face, and she gave him another hug. "Stay in touch, sir…I mean, Anders."

"I will. I promise."

She got on board the train and Anders stepped back, watching as she took her place next to the window with her friends. She seemed to say something, and handed the gift to Ron who stared down at it.

Anders smiled as he watched the word 'Brilliant'! form on Ron's lips. The red-haired boy pressed the Chudley Cannons season ticket up against the glass and yelled 'THANKS!' through the window as the stationmaster blew his whistle.

"You're welcome," said Anders, softly. "All of you."

As he stood there, watching the Hogwarts Express pull out of the station, he wrapped his robes around him. He knew that things were going to work out. With Melissa, with his newly-discovered father…and even the rest of his life.

He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Unconsciously he turned to check that his shadow was still with him, and it waved at him from the ground where the noon-day sun cast it. Smiling, Anders walked away from the station and towards the figure standing at the end of the platform.

There was twenty-three years worth of catching up to do with Sirius Black, and only a finite time to do it in. So many opportunities.

So little time.

**The End of the Beginning **

_**Authors End Note**: _

_Periodically throughout the writing of this story, I've paused to marvel at how it grew from a simple character background into the huge story it became. Truth be told, Shadow has written itself. It was never plotted, and I knew only the basic facts about Anders and his parentage. I couldn't have written this without help from EVERYONE at hp-hogwarts, and particularly Niki and Emma who I bothered constantly for their opinion. I'm actually quite proud of Shadow, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. _

_There are more stories to be told. Some may have Anders and Sirius working together as father and son, others won't. I hope I can find those stories somewhere under the untidy pile of ideas in my brain and bring them to life as vividly as this one. _

_Here's hoping Anders settles into his new life._


End file.
